Stick It (novelization of the movie)
by Patrick Colin Jackson
Summary: Sometimes, the best way to get in the game is to throw out the rules...And nobody throws them out with quite the style that Haley Graham does. Now this gymnast-with-an-attitude has no place to go but sky-high...under the wing of infamous coach-with-an-attitude Burt "Big Vic" Vickerman. Together, they're about to turn the world of competitive gymnastics on its head.


_**Stick It**_

 **A novel by Khaos Junior**

 _Based on the screenplay by Jessica Bendinger_

! #$%^ &*

Two fighter options spun on the split screen of the arcade game-machine: a ninja with weapons, and a jujitsu-master with nothing but skill. Graham Cracker selected the latter.

Onlookers chanted the player's name: "…Graham Cracker! Graham Cracker…!"

Graham Cracker wore a too-big hooded sweatshirt, sat astride a BMX, and was 16 going on 17. Abruptly, the game began. Even more abruptly, it was over—with GC victorious.

! #$%^&*

Spokes, tires, and feet flew down the pavement—toward a near-completed housing development in Plano, Texas. They flew into a brand-new, empty swimming pool. Tires skidded on the surface as Graham Cracker watched.

Frank and Poot took turns playfully taunting Graham Cracker. "What's the point of a new horse if you're not gonna ride it?" Frank asked.

"Come on," Poot chimed in. "Let's dent that."

In the distance, skateboard wheels arrived.

Poot was ticked off. "This _casa_ is not _su casa._ No way."

As Graham Cracker looked on, Poot and Frank were joined by fellow skateboarder Stussy. All three arrived at the pool, near a giant water slide.

"Every which," Stussy told Poot. "Get out."

"There's six other empty pools," Poot noted.

"They aren't as deep!" Stussy retorted.

"This spot's a bust," Poot said, "Because it's totally my boob."

Stussy's proposition was insane. "Off the roof, onto the slide, and into the pool stays."

! #$%^&*

Graham Cracker and Stussy raced inside the empty mansion—up the stairs, through the incomplete second floor, out to a terrace, and up onto the roof. From the street, kids cat-called while positioning for a view.

"Poot. Let me use your phone," Frank urged.

Poot was reluctant. "It'll be done by the time anyone gets here."

"I'm not calling anyone," Frank said as he opened the phone. "I want to take shots of the blood."

Atop the roof, Stussy and Graham Cracker paused before their descent.

"Me first," Stussy said.

For a few seconds, they shared a competitive stare. Then Stussy skated off the roof, onto the water slide, and into the pool for a wipeout.

From the pool, Graham Cracker—still on the roof—looked impossibly tiny. Slowly, GC rolled back and forth, getting wheels in position.

Time played tricks as Graham Cracker flew through the air, pulling a "full" before landing on the water slide. Then GC propelled the bike off the slide, adding an un-required back-flip before landing over the pool…and straight towards a brand-new, cathedral-height, sliding-glass door that led from the house to the pool.

Poot was ready to vomit from the anxiety, as Frank shot the entire stunt. Images flickered on the little screen of Poot's phone-camera.

Graham Cracker's bike sailed toward the sliding-glass window, while kids hustled for cover. GC shattered the plate-glass…careening towards, then into, and through, the drywall.

Graham Cracker hit the ground and rolled like it was second nature. GC's bike was embedded in the drywall.

"Whoops," Graham Cracker tried pulling the bike out of the drywall, but it was stuck.

Frank and Poot peeked through what used to be sliding glass.

"Gotta go—leave it." Poot ran to the front door.

Frank tried to pull the bike from the drywall, but it wasn't moving. As Poot opened the front door, the alarm went ape.

Frank yanked Graham Cracker's bike and fell. Poot's phone went flying.

Kids on boards, bikes, and feet scattered from the mansion in every direction. GC was among them, pausing only to pull off the hoodie and toss clothes in the bushes.

"Graham Cracker" was actually Haley Graham, an adorable young woman with twinkling eyes.

This wasn't the first time she'd made out with the law. They'd had kind of an ongoing flirtation…going on some dates, breaking up, and getting back together. Until now, she hadn't been up for anything steady. But people changed, and Haley was no exception. She felt ready for a commitment to a serious courtship.

Haley's own panting and heartbeat was slowly eclipsed by the sounds of Five-O…particularly sirens. She played cat-and-mouse with the car, raising cop-dodging to an art-form.

Then she exited her cover too soon, noticed a cop cruising slowly behind. "You're pushing it, Haley," he said through a bullhorn.

Haley slowed down—and then gleefully sped up.

! #$%^&*

At the police station, Haley Graham held up her booking numbers. She was covered in dirt.

"…Face forward, Haley…Profile right…Profile left…"

Haley smiled as if she were posing for a fashion magazine.

! #$%^&*

In juvenile court, Judge Westreich studied Haley Graham's ponderous file. "…Seven incidents in two months. You're in this to win it, eh?" she asked Haley rhetorically.

Officer Ferguson sighed.

District Attorney Lauren Powers rose from her seat. "…Looks to be about $14 thousand in property damage. That's a preliminary estimate, Your Honor."

Brice Graham Junior—Haley's father, better known as "Little Brice"—coughed. He was your standard-variety repressed, entitled, big-buckled Texan contractor.

"Will the construction company press charges?" Judge Westreich asked. "Should we cut to restitution and leave it at that?"

Haley shrugged. "What's to leave?"

Alice DeFrank, Haley's mom, was looking even more exhausted than usual…like she hadn't slept in Lord-knew-how-long. "Jesus, Haley; save it." She spoke while juggling four-year-old Graham DeFrank, Haley's half-brother.

"What's to save, either?" Haley asked with another shrug.

Judge Westreich restrained a smile. "Or we could do that." She looked distracted. "Where did this happen?"

"The Crestlake," Powers answered.

Westreich did the math. "…The Graham Development? I don't suppose she has permission to run wild amongst the bulldozers, Mr. Graham?"

"Permission isn't a word Haley's found a use for, Your Honor," Little Brice replied.

"What happened to family therapy?" Judge Westreich wondered aloud. Getting no response, she moved on. "Mr. Graham, this inability to control your own daughter is not the state's problem. You won custody, and I must say I'm pretty underwhelmed by the level of care."

"You and I both," Haley chimed in, evading her father's acid glare.

"We'll take her, Your Honor," Alice offered.

"Over my dead body," Little Brice shot back.

Judge Westreich cut in. "Your attorney can familiarize you with the remedies available…Mrs. DeFrank, isn't it?"

Alice scoffed, passing Graham to his elder sister…dazzlingly-beautiful eight-year-old Christine DeFrank, named after their gymnastic coach-father. Christine, her dad's finest student—besides being his only child from a previous marriage—was currently "pulling a Mike Tyson"…in other words, capturing and holding numerous local championship-titles all at once. She also modeled competition-leotards for the quarterly catalog of a top manufacturer. All of this made the other DeFrank Elite gymnasts furiously jealous—which Christine's dad actually encouraged, believing it kept her in line.

Looking on was Graham and Christine's half-brother. Brice Graham the Third—better known as "Three"—was twelve years old going on twenty. He wore a pressed uniform, polished boots, and a shined belt buckle—all compliments of the Texas Military Academy.

"Haley," Judge Westreich went on, "Your father is willing to underwrite two options here, and I'm going to let you decide: Texas Military Academy; or a facility called…VGA."

Haley sat up with a jolt.

Freaking, Alice turned to her husband. "I know you're mad at me, Brice, but stop taking it out on Haley! This is ridiculous! Let me have her!"

Despite the obviousness of this rock-and-a-hard-place deal, Haley didn't need to think it over. "TMA would be just perfect; thanks, Your Honor." At least there she could log some quality time with her prodigious little brother, whom she'd seen little of since his acceptance to the Academy two years ago. Life there had changed him from a prank-happy pest into a dreary young man, all but devoid of imagination or passion. _I used to figure I hated the old Three,_ Haley thought, _but what I wouldn't give to have him back now!_

Judge Westreich wrote something down before picking up her gavel. "Then VGA it is," she smiled.

Now it was Haley's turn to freak. "No, I said _TMA!_ Didn't you hear m—?" Then she trailed off, realizing she'd just fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the judicial book.

"Oh, I heard you perfectly," Judge Westreich grinned as she tapped her gavel. "Send me a postcard from _VGA._ "

Haley looked at her dad leaving, at her mom chasing him, at Christine and Three chasing their mom.

! #$%^&*

The next morning, a disheveled Haley Graham rode shotgun—driving by her case worker, Susie Mack. They pulled up to a monstrosity and its driveway.

"It's a three-hour drive," Mack said. "Take as much time as you need."

Brice's monster-truck pulled into the driveway. Metallica could be heard blaring from inside the cab. Haley ignored him as she got out and headed inside.

She sauntered upstairs toward her bedroom, past walls lined with family photos of better days.

Haley's room was a thrasher pit: BMX posters; gear; trophies and ribbons buried under skate-rat paraphernalia. She pulled a cap off the wall, revealing a poster of her younger self as a gymnast…complete with devil-horns, a devil-tail, and a pitchfork.

The text read: **Haley Graham, Junior National Champion.** Haley herself had doctored the "H" with a Sharpie; it now read **Crampion.**

Another poster showed six girls, wearing U.S. colors, waving. This one read **U.S. NATIONAL TEAM.** A moustache and soul patch had been Sharpied onto the face of the eldest athlete…a broadly-smiling Tricia Skilken.

The door opened. Haley's father slowly walked in, closing the door behind him.

"If this is about the window I broke—" Haley began.

"Haley."

"…I can work it off. Would that help?"

" _Haley._ "

"Then what _is_ this about? Your having to see Mom? I'll understand if—"

Little Brice raised his hand abruptly, cutting her off with a single unceremonious gesture. "Please don't pretend to be sorry when we both know you're not. That's just an insult."

"What do you call putting up a custody battle when you didn't even want me?"

Her dad couldn't take it. He raised his fist—and barely stopped himself.

Haley held back tears. "Hitting me doesn't hurt Mom. It just hurts me."

"And I actually thought we might get this to work," Little Brice snarled. "I must have been drunk."

"Just say you blame me for Mom cheating and then walking out. I'll understand."

"You knew exactly what was going on—and you did nothing to stop it."

"Do I _look_ like I knew? Or _sound_ like it?"

Little Brice savagely threw his daughter's stuff into her bag. "I worked my ass off so you could train two thousand miles away, with the best in the world, and you repay me _how?_ "

"I'm sure, if we'd been here, none of this would've ever happened."

"You're your mother's daughter, Haley. That's the closest thing to a compliment I can dredge up," Little Brice sneered. "Your mom and you are both out of control. Well, newsflash: this is the last nail in the coffin. You were right the first time—I don't want a daughter anymore."

"How can you give up without even trying first?" Haley asked. "Isn't that in the manual you're always saying _I_ should read sometime?"

That broke the mule's back. Haley's father connected with an uppercut. She stumbled, yet registered almost no pain.

"Is everything okay?" Susie Mack called from below.

"No," Haley answered as Little Brice turned away and slammed out of the bedroom. Her jaw hurt like anything.

! #$%^&*

As Mack's car negotiated the streets of Plano, Haley noticed Poot and Frank giving chase on their bikes. They cruised alongside the moving car.

"Yo, Graham Cracker!" Poot greeted her. "What's happening? Where are you going?"

Haley rolled down her window. Susie shook her head, but then relented as they paused at a stoplight.

"Juvey, outskirts of Houston," Haley answered Poot. "I'll be out after a short stretch." She noticed Susie giving her a curious look.

"Can we visit?" Poot asked.

"As in, break me out?" Haley half-joked. "Come and give it your all."

Susie gave her a doubly-curious gaze. Haley was fighting something. Poot and Frank were doing everything they could to avoid looking completely bummed.

"You know how I feel about the bust," Frank said. "Consider it well-done. No, make that charred to a crisp."

Haley welled up as the stoplight changed color. As she covered tears, Poot shoved his combination phone/text messenger through the window. She caught it awkwardly.

"Use it if they don't take it," he said. "I'll steal my brother's."

"I got some really good shots of your jump on there," Frank added. "That was legendary."

Haley threw her friends a heavy-metal salute through the passenger window. Then she gazed into the rearview mirror at Frank and Poot. They just sat there, unable to wave goodbye.

Abruptly remembering something, Haley rolled the window down. "Get my horse back!"

"Did you catch that?" Poot asked Frank.

"What?" Frank responded. "That she's totally obsessed with me?"

"Why do you always have to bite my moment?" Poot demanded. Then, "Did it taste good?"

"Delicious."

! #$%^&*

It was high noon on the outskirts of Houston.

The building was giving off toxic rays. Troops of feet ran in synchronization to a scary military fife and drum corps music.

A caretaker opened the door to a grim cinderblock cell which was the VGA dorm. Haley entered and dropped her stuff on the floor. This place blew chunks.

In the VGA drill facility, detainees did pushups or climbed ropes.

Back in the residential area, Haley wrapped her unbrushed hair haphazardly into a trucker cap. She slipped her tube-socked feet into shower sandals, laid her regulation shirt and shorts on the bed.

She stashed her Gameboy into the back pocket of her chollo waders, as if it were a pistol. Then she opened the doors to the VGA gym with a groan and a kick.

Standing in dust and sunlight, resembling a teenage gunslinger, Haley reached for some lights. "Anybody home?" she called out. "Anyone care?"

The overhead lights flickered to life above four worthy opponents: the vault, the uneven parallel bars, the floorex, and the beam. Sun streamed through the windows. Dust floated through the air as two big, ancient ceiling fans kicked in. Haley was alone.

! #$%^&*

In VGA's state-of-the-art elite training facility, a weapons check was in progress. A symphony of t-shirts and shorts were pulled off. Athletic tape, dowel grips, and chalk dust exploded into the air like atomic mushroom clouds.

Warriors wrapped protection for battle onto their fingers, wrists, toes, ankles, feet, calves and thighs. The warriors were Elite gymnasts—ages 12 to 19—on the vault, bars, beam, and floor. They worked their equipment to its breakdown point.

The white walls and red floors screamed _all business._ From a Plexiglas viewing booth, mothers and sullen siblings scrutinized the proceedings.

Downstairs, Burt "Big Vic" Vickerman—the alpha male of the operation—was pacing and surveying his Elites. Around him swirled his assistant coaches, Dorrie and Ivan, both Russian.

The entrance doors opened. Heads turned. Haley Graham stood in the doorway, motionless.

For Haley, there was just one thing worse than having no control over her own life—being forced to share her life with people who: (A) she knew hated her; (B) knew she knew it; and (C) liked it that way. Now she was suddenly the meat in a _do-you-know-I-hate-you-good-because-I-want-you-to-know-it_ sandwich.

Eighteen-year-old Joanne Charis was the bread for that sandwich…a four-time National Team member, and a five-time national Haley Graham-hater. The word WHITEBREAD was written all over Joanne, especially in her bitchy priss face. Born and raised in Wichita, Kansas, she was ranked 25th nationally in various events…although her favorite, or so it seemed, was complaining. As an Elite gymnast at the Vickerman Gymnastics Academy, she'd taken an insane number of injuries and always kept on ticking.

Now Joanne and two fellow VGA Elites, Devon Muth and Lacey Saari, shared blatant looks of disgust before returning to their workouts. Five other Elites shared whispers and looks of excitement. The assistant coaches noted Haley's arrival with disdain.

As Haley plopped down and started playing her Gameboy, Joanne shot her a Dirty Harry-esque look while putting on grips. Some things never changed; if gymnastics was the kid Haley stopped being friends with because it was a total jerk to her, then Joanne would be that kid's BF. And a kid like gymnastics didn't care if you were hurt, or tired, or sad. It just moved on and found someone new to be friends with. For Haley, gymnastics had been the most two-faced friend anybody could have been cursed with—besides being the hungriest. It ate kids for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Haley noticed two more VGA Elites, Wei-Yong SooHoo and Mina Hoyt, working out. Both girls had the words FRESH MEAT written all over them.

Wearing a purple track suit and a glare that could melt steel, Big Vic himself strode through the gym like Authority Personified. Gymnasts sat up straight and looked serious, as his figure passed them by. A line of spectacular-looking legs fanned down from handstands, like a curtain in an Esther Williams movie.

For parents who wanted their daughters to be grilled gymnasts, there was just one chef in town. "Ladies," he yelled to the gym. "Read, my, mind."

! #$%^&*

Fifty-two-year-young Burt Vickerman Senior was where charm and belligerence collided. He'd held the Collegiate Gymnastics and NCAA Pommel-Horse All-American titles from 1972 until 1973, when a dislocated shoulder and torn ACL had cut short his career. He'd subsequently fallen in love with his gorgeous physical therapist, who also happened to be a former teammate. Marrying in 1974, they'd welcomed a daughter—Victory, or "Vicky" for short—the following year. The year after that, they had welcomed a son—Burt Junior, AKA "Little Vic". Big Vic had won Plano Pontiac's Mid-Size Salesman of the Year awards from 1976 to 1979, when the call of the gym had proved simply too strong for him…ostensibly. His wife had also been killed by a drunk driver, who'd perished himself in the same accident. When he wasn't busy dealing cars, Big Vic and his wife had been giving private gymnastic lessons out of their backyard—where they'd collected various training devices. They'd honed their coaching and refereeing techniques on Vicky and Little Vic, both of whom had gone on to become NCAA All-American/Collegiate Gymnasts in their own right.

The apple had certainly not fallen far from the tree. Little Vic himself had married a lovely former teammate, whose father happened to be a wealthy used car-dealer. Two years after their honeymoon, the young couple had welcomed a daughter—Ernestine, or "Ernie" for short. After two more years, they'd welcomed a son—Burt Vickerman the Third, whom they affectionately called "Trip" (short for Triple, aptly enough). Both Ernie and Trip were rapidly working their own way up the competitive-gymnastics ladder…but that was another story.

In 1980, Big Vic had bought out a small-time gymnastics club and renamed it after himself. The rest was history.

Big Vic's favorite event was winning. His zodiac sign, fittingly, was Cancer—the Crab. Even in his worst moods, however, he was beguiling…as one might expect from a man who cooked and served the finest (in every sense, according to many VGA patrons) barbecued gymnasts west of the Mississippi. Yet Haley Graham had never been a fan of Big Vic's sauce.

! #$%^&*

Big Vic scratched his head with well-rehearsed incredulity. "Read my mind, ladies," he repeated, pointing to his temple while surveying the VGA domain. "Does my mind say _relax?_ Perhaps my mind is saying _slow down,_ or _take it easy._ I mean, perhaps you can read my mind and it's completely lost. Have I lost my mind? Is that why you're staring off into space?"

As the terrified gymnasts went from cruising speed to flanking speed, Big Vic strode over and loomed large over Haley. He extended his hand, pulling her up.

The furious Joanne stirred the pot. "What is _she_ doing here?"

"Everyone," Big Vic announced, "Haley Graham has very graciously come out of… _retirement_ to train with us. Being out of shape isn't a joke, so don't make fun of her. Get dressed, Haley."

"I gave away all my leotards last year, as birthday and Christmas presents," Haley explained wryly. "I read somewhere that leos actually make very nifty bathing suits, so I figured I'd spare my friends a trip to the mall." She indicated her shorts and matching shirt. "I hope this is okay."

It wasn't, but Big Vic played along. "Fine. You warmed up?"

"To you? Never. But I'm ready and raring to work out, if that's what you mean."

Big Vic nodded. "Stretch and join vault rotation. Let's see where you're at."

Haley began a series of familiar leg stretches in the corner, while playing with her Gameboy.

Striding over, Joanne loomed large over Haley. "Bail-ey, Bail-ey. Wow. You've really gotten…skinny-fat."

Using her Gameboy as a mic, Haley did her best impression of announcer Tim Daggett. "She's not of drinking age, but Joanne Charis is still intoxicated with power. How is that possible, and when will she go to rehab? Well, with all those lame finishes at the Nationals under her belt, Charis still thinks she rules the world."

"If _you_ hadn't bailed, we _might_ have ruled _at_ the Worlds," Joanne cut in angrily. "Now we'll never know."

"If our team had been _that_ good, they wouldn't have needed _my_ score, would they?" With that, Haley left Joanne and meandered up to the vault.

The other girls stared at Haley. Was she really vaulting in chollo culottes and a hoodie?

She gave them the same look in return while chalking up. "You guys are really underdressed." Then she did an exaggerated Will Ferrell-esque preparation at the head of the vault runway.

"We're warming up Yurchenkos," Mina said.

Around the gym, the Elites were maintaining their workouts while grabbing glances at Haley's pre-vault ritual. Then they stopped fully, in order to watch.

Haley launched onto the beat board and sat on the vault like it was a chair. She jumped off with a flourish.

The other gymnasts were shocked by this rebellion. Big Vic headed with scary calm in Haley's direction.

"My landing was a little off," Haley said.

"Nah," Big Vic corrected. "You just need to pick up your run a bit."

Haley smiled. Big Vic leaned in, smiling back and studying her. Then he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder. She wriggled as he carried her out of his gym.

As Joanne squealed with bitchy laughter, Big Vic whipped around. "Having an attitude and being out of shape isn't funny," he snapped. "Who thought that was funny?"

Joanne the culprit pointed to Wei-Yong and shrugged. Wei-Yong shrugged and pointed back to Joanne.

"Give me a hundred V-ups, both of you," Big Vic ordered. "Now…And that means the rest of you, to boot."

An audible ripple of relief floated through the gym.

"Shut it! All of you!" Big Vic commanded. "Down…YINS!"

As all the gymnasts dropped, Big Vic grabbed Haley's knapsack while carrying her out.

" _YINS?_ " Haley probed curiously.

"Yesterday If Not Sooner," Big Vic explained. "People who survive in my program get used to hearing that one." He carried her down the path towards his old gym. "This isn't the real world; it's _my_ world. I don't expect anybody here to like it, or to like me. What I demand is that they respect both." Then, just outside the old gym, he sat the bristling Haley down on a beam.

"I'm sure throwing people over your shoulder and violating their personal space builds _carloads_ of respect," Haley semi-joked.

"Goody," Big Vic responded. "I heard you were like this. I'm so glad it's true. I always did crave a challenge."

Haley nodded while rifling through her knapsack.

"We have rules, for training. We also have coaches," Big Vic went on. "And the reason we have them is because it's gymnastics…which, in turn, is because you could break or burst something—like your neck, your back, an arm, a leg, or the whole kit and caboodle."

Haley faked a yawn and checked her nonexistent watch.

Big Vic's rant continued. "While danger and risk is the reality of what we do, it's all calculated. It has to be. But it can't be calculated if you don't respect the way things work. Things like gravity, for instance." He took Haley off the beam and dropped her onto the mat.

"I'm confused. What's your point?"

Big Vic spelled it out for her. "You can't appreciate rules which are there to protect anything you don't value, down to and including your life. And I get that—because, let's face it, who does? It's not possible."

Haley stood up. "It's possible, all right. It just isn't likely…" She and Big Vic faced off on either side of the beam. "…Least of all when respect is a one-way street."

"You don't do one-way streets, huh? Well, how about cul-de-sacs?"

This startled Haley. Big Vic was notorious for many things, yet a sense of humor was not among them.

"Get some rest," he told her. "Be here—ready to work out—at ten sharp tomorrow morning…Unless you'd rather call the judge, which I'd rather not."

! #$%^&*

The next morning at 9:36 AM, the Elites sprinted by Haley, as she meandered up the running path towards the old gym. She entered the parents' viewing deck, as many younger gymnasts of various levels took class behind the plexi.

Big Vic entered, creating a flutter amongst the moms. "Good morning, ladies. Good morning, Haley." He led a hot-looking mom into his office.

Haley sat on the floor next to Big Vic's office door, listening as he spoke. He noticed her, but pretended not to have a clue.

"You know Madison is very gifted," Big Vic told the hot mom. "We'd like to fast-track her towards becoming an Elite. She's a star."

"But twenty hours a week?" Madison's mom replied. "She's six. I have two other children."

"We'll have her into the TOPS program by the time she's ten," he assured her. "Junior Elite by age 13. That's the gold."

"Don't you mean _goal?_ " Madison's mom responded.

"Did I say gold?" Big Vic laughed. "I guess Madison and gold are becoming synonymous for me."

Haley gagged, while throwing him a look through the door-crack.

"Don't tell the other parents," he said. "I don't want them to feel—"

Madison's mom smiled and sealed her lips. "Say no more. Thanks, Burt." With a wink, she left the office.

Big Vic beckoned a new target. "Mrs. LeDain? Come on in." As the next mother entered his office, the disgusted Haley exited. He caught this and smiled.

! #$%^&*

The ECU clock in the Elite Training Facility read 9:48 AM. All was silent.

With a bang and a blast of light, the entrance doors to the gym burst open and the Elites raced inside.

Joanne turned to Big Vic. "When can we scrap the old long-sleeved leotards?" she asked. "We need new ones for Nationals. Every college will be scouting me." She turned to Haley. "Not that _you_ have to worry about any such thing."

Haley smiled. "A new leotard might distract the judges and scouts from your lack of talent." She nodded approval. "It's a solid strategy."

"Gosh, _Pariah Carey,_ I wonder why no colleges are scouting _you?_ " Joanne shot back. "Oh, I forgot! You don't matter."

As Joanne left, Haley called after her, "That you can even say the word _college_ is an indictment against the whole institution."

"Hey, filibuster?" Big Vic passed Haley a rag and a scraper. "No one cares." They both proceeded to wipe the chalk bowls and scrape the bars down. "More chalk, please." He handed her an empty magnesia wrapper. "It's in the storage closet."

"Is that where you hide the candy?" Wei-Yong asked while looking on. All the Elites turned around longingly at the word _candy._

"Back to work, ladies," Big Vic regarded them sternly. "If you're not here to work _out,_ you're here to _work_ …Now—Big pack."

Joanne worked out on the beam. Devon and Lacey worked flip-flops with consecutive layout step-outs.

The unfeminine Dorrie moaned angrily. "Pretty feet, pretty feet, point them hard and win the meet!"

Haley held up the wrapper to Dorrie, who pointed to the storage room. Haley pulled the door handle. The closet was locked, so Haley sat.

Wei-Yong and Mina did over-splits on stacked mats. Dorrie adjusted hips as necessary, while eagle-eyeing Joanne.

Haley watched as Joanne did her routine, dismounting a simple single tuck with cowboy-legs. "Deja jealous, Haley?" she asked. "Bring back memories? We trained together with Chris for – how long?"

"That'd be too long," Haley answered.

"And he'd give me so much attention that you couldn't take it? So, rather than deal with it, you decided to take matters into your own hands—didn't you?"

"You were getting a lot of attention because you sucked, Joanne."

"If memory serves, _Bail-ey,_ sucking was your specialty. Some of us didn't need to sleep with the coach just for attention."

"Ladies!" Dorrie cut in. "Pointy feet, not pointy words. Pointy words are mouth turds!"

The Elites all had their mouths open, as Haley turned to them. "Don't believe everything you hear," she said. "The truth is actually much, much worse." She headed to the beam. "It's just not as bad as Joanne's pre-school beam routine."

Joanne scoffed.

"Easy," Dorrie tried to calm Haley. "I choreographed that routine."

Haley jumped round and stretched. "Your secret's safe with me," she replied while adjusting the beat board. "Since I'm so jealous of Joanne, I memorized her routine already."

"I don't think you're in shape," Joanne said.

"You think too much. You'll give yourself a headache," Haley retorted. "I may be two years out of shape, but I can do this in my sleep." Without blinking, she mounted the beam like Joanne. "Why do a risky flight-mount when you can get on safely?" Haley mimicked Joanne's safe routine; it was the paragon of lame gymnastics choreography. "We have some finger-flicking-good hand moves…the classic butt shelf…" She stuck out her tush. "…followed by some choreographic dust bunnies—useless bits of fluff, which get us from Point A to Point B, and which induce the urge to vacuum." As Haley launched easily into the moves she described, Joanne looked around—wondering if anyone was going to do anything.

Haley went on leaping and faking bobbles, while dramatically covering it. "That was for you, Joanne," she said, while going into a combined front tuck/jump. "Woohoo – punch front, wolf jump – ever since they raised the value of that, we've been boring audiences with it for years!"

Coaches Dorrie and Ivan gaped with their mouths open.

"Watch as I set up my unspectacular dismount," Haley continued. "It's the most points I can get for the least amount of work, so rather than show you what I can really do – which, let's face it, isn't much – let me phone it in…" She pretended to dial on a telephone, and then pointed to Mina…who was sufficiently entranced to pick up the pretend-phone.

"…Hello? What's your name?"

"Mina. Mina Hoyt."

"Hi, Mina; this is Haley. Listen, could you tell Joanne I'm going to take over and do a real dismount?"

Everyone gasped and ran from around the gym.

Mina pretended to cover the mouthpiece on her "phone". "Joanne? Haley's on the phone. She's going to do a real dismount."

"I heard her!" Joanne slapped the pretend-phone out of Mina's hand, while giving her a scary _I'm gonna kill you_ look.

Haley kept talking on her own pretend-phone. "How about a triple back-somersault? I'll probably cowboy my legs apart…Then again, that's what Joanne would do. And, after all, it _is_ tricky to keep my legs together after sleeping with our old coach for so long. You understand." Hanging up, Haley turned the pretend-cell into a pretend-microphone…covering her ear and whispering into it. "She's really gonna have to stick the landing…" With that, she tossed the pretend-mike and spotted the end of the beam.

" _Haley!"_ Big Vic was striding towards her, with every intention of pulling her off the beam. "You are _not_ throwing a triple-somersault without training for it first!"

Haley launched off the beam as if it were a trampoline. Three back-somersaults, legs cowboyed as promised. Approaching the mat, she severely under-rotated…crashing hard onto her knees and elbows. She smiled.

Big Vic loomed over her like the Sword of Damocles. " _Nobody_ throws triples in this gym until and unless they've trained for them," he proclaimed. "Over my dead body."

Haley looked up at him, delighted. "You don't exactly look like you need CPR."

He held himself in check. "Since you know it all, I'm sure you can guess what I'm about to say…Can't you?"

She shrugged.

"For someone who doesn't know or care, you sure have a penchant for lectures, _Professor."_ Big Vic paused, considering. "So, did you come here to work out—or just to work me up?"

"Depends," Haley answered. "Which would you say I'm better at?"

"Get out," Big Vic snarled. "Don't come back until and unless you're ready to train."

! #$%^&*

Late that afternoon, Haley played her Gameboy outside the gym; inside, eight of the Elites finished workouts.

Big Vic mounted a lawnmower. "Okay, ladies…Outside."

The Elites looked at him inquiringly.

"Start circling the yard," he said. "You're gonna keep circling until and unless Haley participates." He then cut off their moans of injustice with " _Now._ "

All eight Elites circled the yard, scowling at Haley, while Big Vic followed them on the small tractor. At sunset, the girls were still dutifully jogging around the yard—while angry mothers stood watching with their arms crossed.

"Not globally unfair or anything," Joanne complained.

"Don't look at me," Haley retorted. "You're the ones choosing to do this, so get some free will."

The girls kept running—and glaring at Haley, who didn't move—as Big Vic chased them on his John Deere. Then he noticed Phyllis Charis, Joanne's cute-as-a-button mom, getting ready to do something.

He clocked it. "Okay, ladies. That's it. Good job. Grab some dinner…"

As Haley rose, Big Vic looked at her quizzically. "…Not for you," he said.

Phyllis walked up, looking really sweet and shy. "Hey, Big Vic. May I have a word?"

"You know family members aren't allowed in the gym, Mrs. Charis," Big Vic told her. "Just coaches and gymnasts…Charming though you are."

"I will not have my daughter's training sacrificed for some little crack-whore," Phyllis declared, indicating Haley.

"Howdy, Mrs. Charis!" Haley greeted her. "Long time, no see…! I notice you still don't have a life."

The gym emptied—with each Elite staring Haley down, or refusing to look at her, as they exited…with the exception of Joanne, who threw a fit.

"If she doesn't leave, we will!" Phyllis grabbed Joanne and hustled her away from Haley.

! #$%^&*

That night, Haley trudged to the dorm and pulled on the doorknob. It was locked. She knocked, peeking inside. Nothing.

On the second floor, a window opened. Lacey dropped a duffle bag, just missing Haley. Devon closed the window and turned off the light.

Mina popped her head out another window. Wei-Yong joined her.

"Was there candy in that closet?" Mina asked.

"Do you know boys?" Wei-Yong inquired.

Before Haley could answer either question, Mina pitched another. "Have you ever been to a concert?"

Haley nodded. Wei-Yong and Mina were both blown away. Then someone yelled at them from inside—something about a lock-out. Both girls shrugged apologetically.

! #$%^&*

Haley walked into the old gym and plopped down onto the floor. She pulled out her text messenger and typed: HATE IT HERE. HATE EVERYONE. HATE MY LIFE. SAVE ME. Then she curled up, using her duffle as a pillow.

The text messenger rang to life, reading: WE GOT YOUR HORSE! STAY TUNED.

Suddenly, Big Vic strolled in with car keys. "C'mon, Haley. Let's talk."

! #$%^&*

Haley lay on a bench outside, staring at the sky, as Big Vic arrived with a tray of food. "I'm not hungry," she told him. "Thanks anyhow."

"Good," he answered. "Because, when you take a dump where I eat, you don't eat."

"So noted," was Haley's response. "Apparently, you have a lot of girls going to the Olympics. Which country are they gonna represent—the United States of Delusion?"

Big Vic chuckled as he dove into a hamburger. "I'm on your side, believe it or not."

"No kidding…?" Haley sat up, intrigued. "…I didn't think you knew what my side is."

"I know about what happened to you at Worlds. I know that it really sucked."

"Sure. That's why you chased a bunch of girls around on a lawnmower—let them dodge sharp blades for something they couldn't control. Not an abuse of power or anything."

Big Vic was enjoying his food. "Actually, I took the blades out years ago. Don't you dare tell anybody, _capisce?_ "

Haley shrugged. "I forget what I hear very easily."

"So I've noticed. But seriously, I couldn't let them think anyone could get away with that kind of behavior, not around my own gym. Then again, you've proven that one needn't behave in order to exhibit behavior. You gotta love words."

"Whatever. I'm over it."

"You think I'm full of crap, don't you?" Big Vic asked rhetorically.

"Look what you're eating."

Big Vic changed the subject. "I talked to Judge Westreich, told her all about what a charmer you were."

"What else did you tell her? Anything she _didn't_ know?"

He noticed her eyeballing his food, pulled it closer to himself. "I'm going to assume that college gymnastics is _not_ on your To-Do list."

Haley nodded. "For me, college gymnastics is one big fat To-Don't."

"Great." Big Vic savored some fries with excessive appreciation. "So, in addition to sparing innocent collegiate gymnastics coaches everywhere, that means you can take any purse money you win free and clear."

"…While you get to look like a hero for the comeback story of the year, right?"

"And then there's the part where I get 25% of your winnings. I'm running a business here, remember?"

"I couldn't care less about your business," Haley said. "This was chosen for me. So you can make me cooperate and behave, but you can't make me want to be here instead of elsewhere."

"So that's why you ticked off the judge and kissed eighteen goodbye for a while? Your dad's business partners still have a year to press charges, or to do whatever else they want."

Haley remained silent, unable to deny what he'd just said.

Big Vic went on, "I _fought_ to have you here, because we both know you're more than good enough for this. So why not make it work?"

"Because I can't see how it matters! This sport is a joke, because we have to be accurate and the judges don't! The rules are lame, which makes the outcomes lame to boot."

"What's your point?" Big Vic munched thoughtfully.

Haley threw rocks at the trash. "You can be the best, and/or highest-ranked, gymnast in the world…Yet, if you're off by _this much,_ it's all over. Do you know what it's like to work so hard for so little upside, all because the powers-that-be aren't held to the same standards as the contestants? If that disgraces your life's work and all…Well, straighter than that I couldn't give it to you. No offense intended."

Big Vic was impressed by her logic. "No offense taken…You might find this hard to believe, but I didn't grow up wanting to work on a leotard ranch." His tone became solemn. "But my dreams of becoming a big fish at the leotard aquarium weren't realistic. So I settled."

This got a smile out of Haley.

"The Friendship Cup is in a few weeks," he continued. "Maybe, if you applied yourself, you could win a pile of cash—and I could get you out of here."

"What's _your_ point?"

"Don't forget, you're one of the greatest natural talents this sport has ever seen. You can still prove that!"

"You're not actually pushing _that_ speech!?" she asked. "You realize it's a total cliché, don't you?"

Big Vic leaned back. "Okay, Little Miss Original Recipe…Give it your best shot."

Haley got into character. "Talent out the wazoo, natural ability that half the world's gymnasts would _kill_ for! Are you gonna flush your life away, kid, or step away from the bowl?"

"That was terrible, except for the way it proved my point. Now, come on! Who doesn't want to be great—or at least come as close as you once did—and why not?"

"I wasn't great, just obedient," Haley corrected sullenly. "Who doesn't _eventually_ get sick and tired of being judged? Tell me who needs that."

Big Vic's interest was piqued. "For someone who hates being judged, you're one of the most judgmental people I've ever met."

"…I guess I've learned something from this sport after all," Haley said with another shrug.

Big Vic gathered his trash and rose to leave. "Nobody cares what you do, Haley…Least of all me." He headed toward his car.

She thought it over, and then followed him to his car.

He got inside and keyed the ignition, then shut the passenger door in Haley's face. "If you want to come back, Miss Rebel-without-applause, you can walk. Relax; it's only five miles."

Haley glared incredulously as he drove off.

! #$%^&*

Lonely and hungry, tired and miserable, Haley walked along the dark and starry Texas road. Her misery became tears as all her toughness vanished. She paused to stare at the moon before continuing.

! #$%^&*

Outside the Elite gym, Big Vic joined Haley, who walked as the other gymnasts jogged.

"Are you being straight with me?" she asked. "Seriously, I've grown up around enough lunatic adults to last me a lifetime."

"As always, I'll do what I said I'd do."

"I'm used to training on my own, rather than struggling in front of a bunch of robots—"

On a dime, Big Vic turned into a screaming monster. "Haley, grab your horns and barbed tail and pitchfork, get up on your hooves and _get lost! Now!"_ Then he winked at her as she ran off.

! #$%^&*

In the old gym, Haley speed-trained…lining up her tape-laden wrists and launching into back handsprings on the mat…twenty of them in a row. Then she stopped, panting, and looked around.

She broke for lunch, staring at the beam while eating.

Haley positioned, holding pike poses on the floor. She held layouts and twists for counts and releasing. Eyeballing the beam again, she groaned.

Kipping up and down on the bars, Haley did planches and L-hollows. She hung by her knees, face and body covered in chalk.

At the day's end, Haley limped out and looked back at the beam. Then she hit the lights, unaware of Big Vic watching her from behind a one-way mirror.

! #$%^&*

Later, in the dorm, Haley limped past a room full of sleeping Elites. She was carrying a bag of ice.

In her bathroom, she added ice to a tub filled with water on the rocks. Stripping down to her sleeveless VGA training-leotard, Haley winced and exhaled painfully. Then she gingerly lowered herself into the freezing water. She shivered, gritted her teeth—and then fell asleep, right there in the bathtub.

! #$%^&*

On the path, Haley pretended to jog. The other girls ran past her as she bended over to tie her shoe. Haley stood up when they were out of sight. She gingerly took a few steps, still barley able to walk.

Mina and Wei-Yong peeked from the dark viewing deck.

"Can you imagine making it all the way to Worlds and walking out?" Mina asked. "It's insane."

"I heard she was tanking her double pikes in warm-ups," Wei-Yong replied. "I think she just chickened out."

They watched Haley throw a triple twist.

"Whoa," Mina said. "Chickens don't do triples."

! #$%^&*

The new chronology of Haley's life-function was as followed: Run, work out, eat, ice bath, sleep…Easy as lather, rinse, and repeat. Big Vic caught glimpses of her with mounting interest.

! #$%^&*

In the old gym, Haley's feet bounced with her newfound confidence. She went from a double layout into a double pike with no problems.

Big Vic popped in. "Wow, Haley…Does this mean you can finally walk again? Or should I keep the Ice-maker on overdrive?"

Haley answered his question with one of her own. "They say those who can't do, coach. So what's _your_ excuse?"

"I missed a release move on high bar, fractured my spine. When I finally got the okay to train again, and got back up on the trampoline, things were different. I threw a layout, followed by a full, and then by a…" He noticed Haley's fascinated stare. "…You know what? I'm not telling you this. It's a non-event."

"You were scared, weren't you?"

"No, I was _done._ There's a difference."

"I know exactly how that feels," Haley said.

"Only you _chose_ to be done. My body chose for me."

Despite not knowing how _that_ felt, Haley nodded understandingly. "You should get on the trampoline again, just to be sure."

"Pass. How soon are you gonna be ready to join us next door? Sometime this generation, I hope."

"I'll be there before you know it."

"Good." Big Vic smiled. "You gonna hurt yourself?"

"Who hasn't?" she responded, smiling back.

"You gonna get blood on the equipment?"

"I've already done that."

His smile became a grin. "Well, so long as you clean it up."

Haley chalked up and did a tumbling pass. Then she ran back with a Swiffer handle. She tumbled one way, Swiffer-handled the other, chalked, and began the cycle anew.

Soon she'd created a gaffer tape beam on the floor, making hufe white hand- and foot-marks where she was landing. It formed a visual map of where Haley was off.

! #$%^&*

The clock in Haley's dorm room read 10 PM. Her text messenger rang to life. A phone-photo of Poot and Frank, both wearing ski masks, filled the screen. The text read: HALEY OR BUST! She laughed, then winced, climbed into bed and went for some Ibuprofen. The bottle was empty. Haley grabbed her Gameboy for comfort, wincing as she played.

! #$%^&*

Next morning, the fluorescent drug-store lights were blinding and loud. Holding her empty Ibuprofen bottle, Haley pushed an empty cart up an equally-empty aisle. She paused, looking at the selection, and reached for a prescription bottle.

Haley pulled the bottle down, looking around in confusion. She squinted while reading the ECU label: GRAHAM, HALEY – TSUKAHARA; START VALUE – SUPER E; TAKE TWICE DAILY WITH FOOD. WARNING – MAY CAUSE BROKEN NECK.

Haley pulled more prescription bottles off the shelf. This one's label read: GRAHAM, HALEY – HINDORF (FULL-TWISTING DOUBLE-BACK IN THE PIKE POSITION). TAKE FIVE TIMES DAILY. WARNING – MAY CAUSE TORN HAMSTRINGS.

The next bottle contained a poison symbol. GRAHAM, HALEY…FULL-TWISTING ONO, ENDO FULL INTO KHORKINA. START VALUE – SUPER E. WARNING – DO NOT ATTEMPT THIS MOVE, OR YOU WILL DIE AN OUT-OF-SHAPE HAS-BEEN.

The entire shelf-wall of the store was filled with prescription bottles in Haley's name. Frantically, she pulled bottle after bottle off the shelf…putting them in her basket, which was soon overflowing. All of a sudden, the store's alarm sounded…

! #$%^&*

Back in Haley's room, it was still night. Her Gameboy was making noises. She bolted up, panting, and flipped on the light.

Mina rushed to the door. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Why?"

"You were screaming."

A curious Wei-Yong rushed up behind Mina. "Were you at a concert or something?" she asked Haley.

"Was someone trying to steal your candy?" Mina chimed in. "Because that happened to me once. I screamed like a banshee."

Haley waved dismissively. "Go back to sleep, guys."

Mina and Wei-Yong shared a look as they retired.

! #$%^&*

Haley made her real debut the next morning, in the Elite gym. Practice was already well in session when she showed up in a short-sleeved animal-print leotard, prepared to strut her stuff.

"Woohoo, Bailey's back," Joanne greeted her.

Haley walked right past Joanne to the bars. Dorrie and Joanne wandered over with her, pretending not to be curious.

Around the gym, everyone stopped what they were doing to watch Haley…who sang to herself as she dragged a beat-board over to the bars. She put on her grips, ignoring the focus.

Big Vic and Mina watched Haley chalk up.

"She's been practicing a def," Mina told her coach.

"It's called a Geinger full," he corrected. "Go do some more sit-ups."

Haley launched into a kick-ass routine. Around the gym, everyone was stunned, mouths open. Joanne stomped her foot.

"It's time for independent study, people!" Dorrie said.

Joanne was annoyed to notice that Haley wasn't leaving. "Doesn't she have home-school?" she asked Mina.

Haley spoke into her pretend-phone. "Mina? Please tell Joanne I got my GED when I was fifteen."

Joanne brushed past Mina. "What does drunk driving have to do with school?"

Haley sighed as the miffed Joanne turned away and then departed.

! #$%^&*

Later, Mina rehearsed on the floor—tumbling like a badass to stripper-jazz music.

Dorrie imitated Mina's stiff dance-moves like a kindergarten teacher. "Not like a duck! What the cluck! Flow like a river! Be a smile-giver!" Then Dorrie gave up. "Your dance-elements are too mechanical."

Mina kept trying in earnest. She was graceful, but more about power than about "corny stuff".

Dorrie switched off Mina's trumpet-music. "Just because you're fourteen doesn't mean you have to look your age."

"How am I supposed to look?" Mina asked.

"Like you're talented," Dorrie answered bluntly.

Haley caught this, and didn't like it at all.

"Every tenth of a point counts," Dorrie went on. "You're not trying hard enough. They want pretty! Elegant! Feminine!"

"Then perhaps Mina should be coached by somebody she can imitate on those counts." Haley cut in. "Not by someone who keeps squishing her tumbling into their own lame style."

"I'll do my job and you do yours," Dorrie shot back.

But Haley was just getting started. "I'm not the one who's paid to be here. If your job is to make cookie-cutter routines for every girl here, when even they can tell you that no two gymnasts are remotely alike…well, not lazy or anything." She mimicked the horrible stripper-esque moves with faux excitement. "Why don't we just put a pole in the middle of the floor? At least we can earn some tips while we're out there. Heck, some girls work their way through grad school like that." Haley turned back to Dorrie with dead calm. "I understand not everybody can be original, but that's no reason for being lame."

Dorrie lost it. "Boss!" she called, on the verge of crying.

Big Vic hit the scene. "Make it fast; I've got two rhythmic girls in the old gym, walloping each other with clubs."

"I need to be guaranteed an environment where these girls keep their opinions to themselves," Dorrie proclaimed, indicating Haley. "Especially her."

"Haley, we've got a meet next door," Big Vic admonished. "Will you say you're sorry?"

"Because she can't handle one opinion? Or because the truth hurts?" Haley retorted. "If I'm wrong, then why is she so upset?"

This sent Dorrie over the edge. She began hyperventilating.

"Dorrie," Big Vic said. "Relax."

"I am trying to choreograph a routine here!"

"There's a fine line between choreography and homicide. Anybody who does this for a living should know the difference." Haley sighed. "I'm saying that to help."

"That's not the sort of help I need!" Dorrie hissed.

"Yes, it is!" Mina blurted.

Dorrie nodded, wiping her tears with the wounded entitlement of someone gravely harmed.

"Dorrie, there's an Advil bottle in my top drawer," Big Vic said. "It's not Advil inside. Help yourself…Haley, come here."

Haley came over, ready to burst out laughing.

"Don't be like that." Big Vic was sympathetic. "The hysterical nursery rhymes she'll leave on voicemail are a hundred times worse, so just steer clear."

Haley changed the subject. "I know you're very busy milking the cash-cow next door, but maybe you can fix Mina's floor routine. She's a badass, and Dorrie's been making a sissy out of her."

"What's wrong with Mina's floor routine?" Big Vic inquired.

Haley studied him. "For someone who keeps chanting, _Olympics or bust,_ you don't pay much attention to your thoroughbreds."

Big Vic remained clueless.

"With all respect due to your gold medal-factory next door," Haley rephrased, "Dorrie's not the world's greatest coach."

Ivan yelled something in Russian about the rhythmic.

"I gotta jam, Haley." Big Vic turned away from her. "Worry about your own routines."

Ivan rushed into the Elite gym. He was tangled in ribbons. "…The rhythmics are going peanuts—" was all Big Vic could make out.

"Show me," he ordered Ivan.

Haley and Mina rushed after them into the old gym. All four stopped dead in their tracks.

"This is _so_ retarded," Mina commented.

" _Leotarded_ is more like it," Haley added.

The scene was rhythmic mayhem. Rail-thin rhythmic gymnasts were in a full-scale battle with their equipment; balls, clubs, rings, and ribbons were being wielded like kung-fu weapons.

"This would make a great movie," Haley half-joked. "Where's my vid-cam?"

"Knock it off, Haley!" Big Vic called over his shoulder. As he waded into the fray between two pee-wee gymnasts, a rhythmic club pelted him from nowhere. Then a third pee-wee crashed into him and they both plunged into a nearby foam-pit.

Mina studied the freaky goings-on with Haley. "Not insane or anything," she said.

Haley shrugged. "If I had to jump through hoops and twirl ribbons without tripping—or eating—I'd go insane, too." Then she produced a cigarette lighter from her pocket. "But this should break it up." She jumped onto a trampoline and launched herself toward the gym ceiling; there she flicked her lighter under the sprinkler-system, which kicked on. Within seconds, everything and everybody in the gym was absolutely drenched. The surprisingly-warm water left Haley's "Jungle Jane" leotard, and her hair, plastered to her.

Euphoric, she dropped from the ceiling into a pit filled with mud-colored ping-pong balls…which was conveniently located halfway between two water-spewing sprinklers. Beside the pit was a sign which read DANGER / QUICKSAND. Haley frolicked in the "bog", while the sprinklers kept soaking her. She was in heaven.

"C'mon in!" she called out to nobody in particular. "The quicksand's fine!"

! #$%^&*

Back in the Elite gym, Lacey and Joanne popped in for their evening workout. At the uneven parallel bars, Haley worked release moves on a set.

Haley looked up as Wei-Yong cleared her throat twice. Then Wei-Yong did the exact same combination that Haley had just done.

"How long have you been doing that?" Haley asked.

Wei-Yong shrugged.

"Show me more."

Wei-Yong launched into a series of flights on the uneven. Haley's mouth was agape in genuine surprise and wonder, as Wei-Yong dismounted.

"You could go to Worlds with that," Haley told Wei-Yong.

"You think?"

"I _know._ " Haley was in puppy-dog mode, wide-eyed and nodding eagerly.

Wei-Yong chuckled scornfully. "Big Vic wouldn't even pick me for the Friendship Cup. As far as he's concerned, I don't exist."

Mina appeared, wanting in on this.

Haley turned to Mina. "You guys are way better than Joanne or Lacey, or even me…"

Wei-Yong shook her head and shyly looked at the floor. Mina blushed.

"…But you gotta totally want it, more than the next girl. Do you?"

Wei-Yong and Mina looked shocked, then smiled and nodded. "We totally want it!"

Haley returned the smile. "Then it's Friendship Cup or bust."

! #$%^&*

Days later, in the Elite gym, Big Vic stood in front of everyone. "Based on results at the Pan Am Classic, and on progress and consistency in workouts, I've selected the four athletes competing for the Friendship Cup."

"You decided fast," Haley observed. "It's looking a lot like Nationals."

Big Vic smirked indulgently. "No worries, Haley. You're on the list."

Haley looked confused. The other girls groaned.

"I need someone to loan Haley a club warm-up and a leotard," Big Vic said.

"Unsanitary!" Joanne retorted. "And those long sleeves are so tired! Don't we have a constitutional right to bare arms?"

Mina and Wei-Yong drooped. Haley's hand shot up.

"Since when have you needed permission to speak?" Big Vic asked.

"Depends," Haley answered. "At what point does it matter whether or not we need permission for something?"

"It always matters," Big Vic confirmed. "That's why you're going."

"I'd still love to know whether I've earned this spot, or if it's just being handed to me," Haley said. "If it's a bit of both, cool."

"It _is_ a bit of both, actually," Big Vic replied.

"I've totally earned my spot," Joanne cut in. "I'm practically a Dalmatian."

"Dalmatians are born with spots; they don't earn them," Haley retorted. "That's my point."

"Dogs are people, too," Joanne shot back.

"You said it, I didn't," Haley responded. "Anyhow, I'd hate to think I was going based on some subjective, opinion-based, reputation crap."

"That's just it, Haley," Joanne explained. " _Everything_ about gymnastics _is_ subjective, opinion-based, reputation crap! So deal with it, instead of being a spoil-sport."

"It's the sport that's spoiled, not me." With that, Haley turned back to Big Vic. "Take whoever you want, Coach. You know best."

"They're all lazy," Ivan urged Big Vic. "Put the fire under the gluteus. Make competition."

Big Vic was resentful, but took the bait. "Let's do it, then."

Lacey and Joanne shot Haley looks that were meant to kill.

"No killing Haley in her sleep, people," Big Vic warned.

! #$%^&*

A few days later, in the Elite gym, eight handpicked VGA gymnasts warmed up while parents gathered in the bleachers. Two judges prepared and took their places.

"Ladies," Big Vic announced, "I've asked the judges to score you all regardless of order."

"Is that fair?" Joanne inquired. "What's this all about?"

! #$%^&*

Later, on the uneven parallel bars, Big Vic helped Haley adjust the beat board. "I want you to do well," he told her. "The last thing I need is for you to hurt yourself on, say, a triple twist—or anything else you can't stick."

Haley looked surprised.

Big Vic went on, "I may be self-involved, but I'm not blind."

"I acknowledge your concerns and will take them into consideration," Haley said, "as I light the bars on fire."

"Actually, that reminds me," Big Vic added, "Your toe point still needs work."

"My toes drill oil when they need to," Haley scoffed.

"Okay, Exxon; let's see it, then." He and Haley shared a smile. It was so on.

! #$%^&*

The Elite gym's in-house competition featured every girl and every routine at the same time. It was like a kaleidoscope: a syrup vault, a spoke-bar routine, and a shiva-beam routine happened simultaneously with anti-gravity tumbling on the floorex.

! #$%^&*

Later, Dorrie reviewed the in-house competition results. Overly-nervous parents looked on. Nearby, Big Vic conferred gifts upon Judges Postma and Turescheva.

"The winner today was Wei-Yong," Dorrie said. "Haley was second, followed by Mina…and then Lacey. Joanne will be our alternate."

Parents gasped.

So did Joanne. "Alternate? I'm nationally ranked!"

Big Vic loomed behind her. "And, as such, you're already qualified for Nationals. Remember, the Friendship Cup is a qualifier for those who aren't currently ranked. Let's be fair, Joanne."

"Jealous much, Joanne?" Mina asked, while exchanging high-fives with Wei-Yong.

! #$%^&*

Later, in the Elite gym parking lot, Judges Turescheva and Postma carried their gifts to their cars while kissing Big Vic's ass.

"What, are you actually spending time in the gym, Vic?" Judge Turescheva asked. "You're gonna have half the national team this year, with those young ones."

"Tell your friends," Big Vic responded.

"Haley looks great," Judge Postma said. "I hear Chris DeFrank expects her back at his gym on her eighteenth birthday."

Big Vic was put-off, even miffed, at this news. "Haley!" he called. "Chris DeFrank thinks you're gonna end up back at his gym. What do you think?"

As Haley jogged over and joined them, Big Vic high-roaded it. "If Haley wants to go back and train with Chris, that's completely up to her."

Haley looked at Big Vic with respect and gratitude. "I think if Chris DeFrank had wanted me to keep training with him," she said, "he wouldn't have started boning my mom behind my dad's back." She walked away, leaving Big Vic and both judges stunned.

! #$%^&*

That night in the dorm, Haley stood alone at the pay-phone. She was nervous, and not just from the dark. "Hey, Dad. Sorry to bother you. I just wanted you to know I'm working hard here. I'm working to pay you off for the damages and stuff. I'm competing for something they call the Friendship Cup; if I win—no, I mean _when_ I win—I'll donate the prize money to you…Okay; that's it. I just didn't want you to think I'm goofing around out here. Bye, then." She hung up, determination written all over her face.

! #$%^ &*

The next day, in the Elite gym, Devon held out a neatly-folded warm-up and leotard. She dropped both on the floor at Haley's feet, and then walked off.

"Thanks, I think," Haley said.

On the other side of the gym, Lacey was crotching the beam, circling and hanging by her knees.

Nearby, Big Vic was spotting Joanne. "Pack your stuff," he told her. She was river-dancing, with no regard for Lacey's feelings.

! #$%^&*

Later, in the Elite gym's parking lot, Big Vic loaded up his van for the Friendship Cup. Haley, Mina, Wei-Yong, and Joanne were helping him.

"…Wait," Haley said in astonishment. "You say you don't have a license to practice gymnastics?"

"It was revoked," Big Vic explained while ushering her into the van.

! #$%^&*

Half an hour later, Big Vic entered a Rite Aid. The cute checkout lady smiled at him.

"Howdy, Sheila," he said, giving her a flirty nod. "Could you direct me towards the bandages?"

"Did you break someone's heart?" she joked, then indicated where Big Vic should go. "They're on Aisle 13."

Haley, Mina, Wei-Yong, and Joanne burst through the doors behind Big Vic…who turned around and flashed them a look. Haley caught it and steered her three friends elsewhere.

He turned back to Sheila. "Thanks, Sheila; I appreciate it." Minutes later, he unloaded a pile of wrapping supplies at Sheila's checkout counter.

She smiled. "Looks like you broke a lot of hearts."

"I wish," Big Vic said, playing along.

As they shared a laugh, Haley and her fellow gymnasts rounded the corner. The four girls were amped, their arms full of candy.

Big Vic sighed. "Read my mind, people."

Sheila blushed, tickled.

Haley whispered something to Wei-Yong, who threw herself into an excellent impression of a spoiled brat. "But, Dad, you promised!"

Then Mina kicked in with an even-better impression of same. "Yeah, Daddy! Pretty please with—"

"Stop," Big Vic shook his head. "I don't even want to hear that word, Mina."

Sheila looked confused, as Haley pretended to burst into tears.

"It's just candy," Sheila said.

"It's poison," Big Vic retorted sternly. "It'd be healthier for them to eat the boxes and wrappers for that stuff, than the stuff itself."

"You know, girls can get eating disorders when their fathers pay too much attention to what they eat," Sheila replied.

"I'm not their old man," Big Vic shot back.

"Then why do you care what they eat?" Sheila asked.

"We'll just get Mom to buy it for us later," Haley said. Mina and Wei-Yong nodded.

Sheila handed them some candy. "Here, girls; it's on me."

Big Vic shook his head angrily.

When they were outside the store, he stepped between them and the van. "The candy. Now," he ordered. "Otherwise, you can walk from here to the Friendship Cup." He thrust out a hand, gestured insistently. The girls resignedly passed him the candy Sheila had treated them to. Then Big Vic stepped aside, got in the driver's seat, keyed the ignition…and proceeded to eat the candy himself.

! #$%^&*

The girls filed toward the Sam Houston Arena while Big Vic parked the van. Five super-tall basketball players walked by the girls; it was a study in contrasts.

A convertible, with two coeds crammed inside, pulled up and started honking. As the VGA crew turned toward the noise, two of the b-ball players ran towards the car. They kissed the girls and hopped into the convertible, which squealed off in a blare of music.

Haley, Joanne, Mina, and Wei-Yong watched the life they were missing. Their faces were masks of angst.

"I'd kill for a boyfriend," Joanne said. The other girls turned to glare at her.

"That's a strategy," Haley responded. "Boys love violence."

The VGA girls walked, in matching gear, through the double-doors of the small arena. Haley glanced back longingly at the car and its occupants, before heading inside.

The sign read, **Welcome to the FRIENDSHIP CUP.** Underneath it were two additional signs with opposing arrows: one was for ARTISTIC GYMNASTS; the other was for T&T. Big Vic and his crew followed the AG arrow.

"What's T&T?" Mina asked.

Haley assessed the timing. "It's short for _Trampoline_ and _Tumbling._ As in _power_ tumbling. Come on," she said, pulling Mina the other way.

Moments later, in the T&T division, a women's synchro duo practiced on side-by-side trampolines…while other synchro teams waited their turn.

As Mina and Haley rushed over to watch this strange world, one power-tumbler sprinted into an explosion of consecutive tumbling skills; she whizzed and thumped across the floor with awesome speed, power, and velocity. For Mina, it was like seeing God and home all at once.

"May she try it?" Haley asked the PT girl, who nodded.

Mina raced like a banshee to the runway and pulled off her sweats. "What should I do?"

"You can do eight of whatever you want," the PT girl explained. "Whip-backs feel awesome."

Mina wasted no time launching into a power-tumbling pass, as if she had been born to do it. She landed, exploding into giddy ecstasy. "It's like NASCAR for girls!" she gushed.

Even the PT girl was impressed.

! #$%^&*

Spectators took their seats for the Friendship Cup, while judges got oriented behind their tables. Gymnasts warmed up in pairs and trios, before lining up for the March-In.

"Haley!" Big Vic roared out. "Take those Chuck Connors off!"

Haley, hands on jutting hips, kicked off her black CC's without missing a step.

Mina and Wei-Yong were both overwhelmed, as they eyed their fellow competitors.

"Trust me," Haley told her teammates, "they're not thinking about you. Concentrate on yourself. Make the judges look. And, if you eat mat, eat it hard. Flame out."

"Yo, Graham Cracker!" It was Poot, sitting with Frank in the stands. As both waved furiously, Haley ran over to greet them…by jumping into their arms, then hugging and kissing them. She laughed with excitement as they playfully caressed the seat of her VGA leotard.

Jo, Mina, and Wei-Yong were doe-eyed. Haley knew boys!

! #$%^&*

In the vault area, all events were competing simultaneously.

"What are you in for?" Haley asked Mina.

"The one-and-a-half, and the double," Mina replied.

"Double it," Haley whispered. "You can do the one-point-five as your second, if you screw up. Vault's the one place you get do-overs, so NASCAR it up."

Mina nodded confidently. Haley changed her vault number and headed back down to the waiting area, while Mina chalked up.

"Did you just change Mina's vault?" Big Vic demanded.

Haley shrugged. "You wanted her to double it, right?"

Big Vic shook his head in exasperation, while a judge green-flagged Mina. She saluted, while staring down the runway with intensity. Then she threw a double-twisting Yurchenko…and stuck it.

Haley and Big Vic were blown away. "Let the underscoring begin," he said, while she high-fived the elated Mina.

Now Haley was up. Big Vic set her number for the judges.

At the vault runway, Haley suddenly looked very tense. The crowd booed, with Frank and Poot laying it on with a vengeance.

Mina had scored a 9.375. She looked visibly disappointed; Joanne, shocked; and Haley, furious. This was low, even by Joanne's standards.

Haley chalked up, looking supremely annoyed. As Big Vic adjusted the beat-board, Haley waved him over while staring at the judges.

"Put me down for a single," she said. "It's pointless to risk getting screwed by them twice. I need the money too much."

This caught Big Vic off-guard. "No double? Seriously?"

Haley shook her head. Big Vic changed her vault number. She prepped, saw the green flag, and saluted. Then she ran and vaulted a watered-down Yurchenko.

"…Not weird or anything," Mina said, as she and Wei-Yong shared a look of total confusion amid the applause.

As Haley exited the vault runway, Big Vic patted her on the back. She walked past Wei-Yong and Mina.

"Where's the double?" Wei-Yong asked. "Did something happen?"

"I changed my mind at the last minute," Haley said with a shrug. That explanation didn't ring any truer to herself than it did to Mina or Wei-Yong.

Big Vic was happy, however. "You did the right thing, Haley. Way to go."

Mina and Wei-Yong traded looks. "What does he mean by _that?_ " Mina wondered softly.

Haley scored a 9.525.

Joanne's vault was clean, with a big step. The scoreboard read 9.415.

"That sucks," Wei-Yong told Mina. " _You_ had no step!"

Joanne gloated as they grabbed stuff for the bar rotation. "Mina's not nationally ranked," she said.

"Cut it out, Joanne," Haley retorted.

"It's not called gym-nice-tics," Joanne replied, as a competitor suddenly wiped out on her vault…right in front of them. "See what I'm talking about?"

Like a sneeze, one really bad wipeout can give a meet the flu; all any gymnast can do is hope like hell she doesn't catch that flu. Soon, gymnast after gymnast was wiping out: a fall off the beam; a butt-landing on the floor; stepping out of bounds on the vault; three consecutive misses on bar-releases. Girls were tanking right and left.

Later, at the uneven parallels, Big Vic and his crew cheered Wei-Yong on. "Come on, Wei-Yong!" Mina urged. "Eat mat and eat it hard! Flame out!"

In the middle of her routine, Wei-Yong missed the bar on a release-move. Big Vic, who was spotting, missed her.

Wei-Yong ate mat with a spread-eagle belly-slam. Chalk-dust blew everywhere.

Poot, Frank, and their fellow spectators winced and groaned. Mina covered her mouth as if she'd caused the flame-out.

The judges scribbled hieroglyphics on Wei-Yong's score-card. "That's alright, Wei-Yong!" Haley cheered. "Shake it off!"

Wei-Yong remounted and finished the routine, clearly disappointed. Then she sneezed—twice.

Haley clocked the sneeze, looking worried. Wei-Yong had scored a 9.2.

Joanne, getting ready, walked smugly past Wei-Yong. "Nice stick," she sneered.

Joanne's routine was steady and boring in roughly-equal measure. She dismounted and checked out her score: a 9.312.

Haley consoled a distraught Wei-Yong while Big Vic reset the bars.

Mina gave Haley a fist-pump. "NASCAR it up, Haley!" she urged.

"Are you good?" Big Vic asked. "You've got that look."

"I'm throwing what I can throw," Haley replied.

"The judges wanted a clean routine," he counseled. "You can win this. They like what you're doing, so stick it."

" _Stick it?_ " Haley smiled. "Why do I not like how that sounded, coming from _you?_ "

He smiled back. "Accuracy counts, Haley."

On the bars, Haley executed a very standard routine…much to Wei-Yong's and Mina's confusion.

Joanne sidled up to Mina. "That routine is four years old," she complained. "It's practically farting dust."

Mina ignored Joanne. "Where are her release moves?" she wondered aloud. "What's Haley doing? That's too easy!"

"You didn't really buy into that _go for it_ routine, did you?" Joanne goaded. "If you want a team sport, try soccer."

Haley stuck an easy dismount, looking humiliated. "You got nothing to be ashamed of," Big Vic told her.

His words merely exacerbated Haley's embarrassment. "That's easy to say, for someone who _has_ no shame," she responded. Sure enough, her score was 9.612…a result which left Wei-Yong and Mina totally grossed out.

Haley watched Coach Duane Marvin talking to a visibly-upset competitor, Gloria Javier—who was rubbing her elbow.

"Suck it up," Coach Marvin urged. "Just go out there and do your routine."

"Why can't Julie go?" Gloria asked.

Coach Marvin was irritated. "Because I said so, because Julie doesn't have your start value, and because I said so. You want more tape?"

Haley looked on with mild concern for Gloria, who seemed impossibly small and scared as the judges green-flagged her. Gloria stepped up to the bars and touched the low bar. Then she saluted, stepped down and marched off.

Coach Marvin was stunned. "You don't scratch unless I tell you to scratch!" he yelled. "I can't even look at you."

Gloria's score flashed a 0.00. "That's too high!" Coach Marvin screamed at the judges. Gloria sat down and put her head on her knees, refusing comfort as Haley approached her.

On the sidelines, Poot and Frank mugged it up for Haley—who, along with her teammates, was staying warm and retouching makeup.

"You're about to go down in history," Haley told Mina, "as the first gymnast ever to stick a layout-layout full on the balance beam."

Mina and Wei-Yong said nothing but just went about their business.

"What's wrong?" Haley asked. "Don't bum on the falls. At least you made them look."

"I see how it is," Mina scoffed. "You tell us to take a risk, but then you play it safe and get a huge score? That's very convenient."

Haley wanted to argue, but couldn't. Mina had hit the nail on the head: Haley was selling out.

"You want to win the purse," Wei-Yong chimed in. "We get it, so drop the act."

"Wait," Haley began. "There's a lot more to it than that, you guys! Don't you at least wanna—!?" Alas, Wei-Yong and Mina were corralled out to the beam before Haley could explain herself.

"Haley!" It was Alice, waving furiously from the corridor. "Over here, honey!" Haley made her way over to Alice, who over-eagerly hugged her. "Oh, sweetheart, I miss you!"

Haley smiled uncomfortably. "Hi, Mom," she said. "How's everything going?"

"You're doing a great job," Alice went on. "Nice sets so far…" She motioned up to the stands. "…I'm here with Chris. We want a word with you."

Chris waved from where he sat.

"What do you want a word with me about?" Haley asked.

"We want you to come back and train with him," Alice explained. "It doesn't look good to have you training with somebody else. We need a united front."

A stunned Haley looked at her mother. "First of all, I'm done fronting for you—or anybody else. Second of all, if what Christine goes through with him is any indication…"

Alice shifted into stage mother-mode. "You should be thanking Heaven that Judge Westreich let you have another shot like this one. You should be grateful that you're being given a second chance, after all but throwing your career away. Remember the years I slaved, chauffeuring you to and from training?"

Haley shook her head. "We both know you got much more out of it than a long drive."

Alice was disgusted. "We were _this close_ to the Olympics."

"What's this _we_ stuff? What event were _you_ competing on, box-springs? Mom, only six girls make it to the Olympics. No way was I going to be among them. Ask anyone."

"No respect for your talent…for Chris, me, or anything else—including yourself." Alice took a deep breath. "I suppose Burt Vickerman respects you."

"Yeah, actually," Haley nodded. "In his own way, he does."

"The only thing Vickerman respects is money. The only thing he cares about is cashing in. If your father hadn't paid him off, you'd be at Texas Military Academy right now."

Haley was hit hard. This did not compute. _Danger, Will Robinson,_ her mind screamed.

"What do you mean, paid him off?" she asked her mother. "Everybody there pays—don't they?"

Alice spelled it out for her. "Your dad called practically every Elite gym in the country. None of them wanted you. He's paying Vickerman four times what every other girl's parents are paying there."

Blinking, Haley gripped a railing. Her eyes widened as she took it all in. She was too stunned to swallow. Everything hurt like hell.

"Did you think Vickerman was on your side?" Alice laughed without amusement. "He's a coach, Haley. The only side he's ever been on is his own."

"Haley, come on!" Irritated, Big Vic yelled from the podium. "Come warm up!"

Haley was floored, her faith in Big Vic and his kindness shaken.

"Haley!" Big Vic waved urgently, pointing to his wrist. "Let's go warm up for beam. YINS!"

Furious, stung by Big Vic's betrayal, Haley fought tears.

"You're doing well, honey," the clueless Alice urged. "Keep it up!"

Swallowing her horror, Haley ran up onto the balance beam. She flung herself into warm-ups with her VGA club-mates. Poot and Frank cheered, giving Haley a metal salute, which she returned. Then Haley proceeded to throw her hardest tricks.

Big Vic clocked the recklessness. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," Haley answered.

A judge fingered a switch, and a green flag rose. Haley saluted fiercely and the head beam-judge saluted back, while Poot and Frank gave heavy-metal salutes.

Haley's approach to the beam was intense. She could hear her own breathing and heartbeat, the sounds of her own body on the equipment. Once again, she had become the athlete who'd made the World Team.

Haley charged into her mount with a rock-solid landing. The crowd's cheering sounded dull through Haley's own ears.

She pressed into a handstand. Then she raised one arm in a perfect single arm-stand, looking like a star. Blood rushed into her ears, increasing Haley's heartbeat.

Her fingers gripped the beam as she raised one hand. She was crying. Then her tears dropped, hitting the top of the beam.

Haley pressed into a straddle-V, holding it despite the tears, and despite the mascara streaking her face. Then Haley's composure was gone. She punch-fronted with both feet, into the air…falling badly.

Big Vic waved, telling Haley to calm down. Mina and Wei-Yong watched, shocked, from the sidelines. Even Joanne was stunned.

The ticked-off Alice swore like a sailor. Poot and Frank winced, while yelling encouragement.

Haley wiped her eyes and got up, then dismounted a simple back-tuck and sat on the landing. The crowd groaned.

For a few seconds, Haley just sat there in an altered state. Then she got back up, tears streaming down her face. She saluted the judges, who tallied her rampant deductions.

Haley calmly descended the podium and grabbed her bag. She scanned the stands, found Poot and Frank, gave them a heavy-metal salute and indicated the exit. They could tell that she needed them.

Big Vic followed Haley from the arena toward the exit-tunnel. Tears of humiliation and betrayal were streaming down her cheeks.

"Haley, don't do this again!" Big Vic called, while chasing her into the long tunnel. "Stay."

"Let me guess." Haley whirled back to face him. "Is this you fighting for me to be here?"

"Let's go back in there and finish this meet."

" _Don't I sound like I really care, Haley?"_ Haley mimicked him ferociously. "Because I really care; he lied."

"Haley, stop already. Don't bail again. Finish the meet. And this time, do it for yourself."

"Yeah, you did say something about this being for me. You said this was about my freedom, about helping me. But you forgot to tell me the part about you cashing in on it, on _me._ Is that what you've been fighting for—how much I'd get _you_ paid?"

Big Vic knew exactly what she was talking about.

"There's a catchy headline," Haley went on. " _Brilliant coach reforms troubled teen, and thereby saves his ailing reputation._ "

The tunnel's exit light was broken.

"I meant everything I said, Haley. I never lied to you."

"Of course you didn't. You just read me that insurance policy which was getting you those fat checks from my father. You gave me your word, all right, but you didn't mention that your word was bought and paid for."

"I didn't have to tell you that part, Haley. I said that stuff because it made sense."

"You mean, as in _dollars_ and cents?"

Big Vic stepped in front of her. "You're not leaving like this, not twice. Let's finish the meet together, and then deal with this like adults."

"Make up your mind, already! Am I an adult or a kid? There, right there, is my lot in life: you expect girls like me to deal with everything the way adults do; then, you not only deny us the privileges which adults have, you never give us a chance to be kids! Don't adults screw up, too? And when they do, who's there to tell them, _That's all right; it happens_? The worst part is that these people, who themselves think nothing of screwing up right and left, expect _us_ to be perfect because _they_ aren't!"

"We don't get to pick up when we grow up, Haley," Big Vic explained. "It's called life; look into it." His tone became sympathetic. "You got dealt a lame hand; anyone who tells you differently is full of dung. But this is up to you. Are you really gonna run away, again? Or are you gonna come back inside and play your hand, just to see if things work out differently this time?"

Haley turned away. "You never owed anything to me. I never expected you to be a decent coach, just a decent human being."

Big Vic watched her run toward the exit. Then he turned and headed back into the bright, fake lights.

! #$%^&*

Frank drove his truck over to meet Haley, as she emerged from the exit-tunnel. Poot rode shotgun.

"You tanked like a rock star!" Frank said. "That was insane."

Haley climbed in, sitting between Poot and Frank. She was crying hard.

Not knowing what else to say, Poot asked, "Can you tell me something, seriously?"

Haley nodded.

"Why do the girls wear so much glitter and clips in their hair?" Poot went on. "That's some uptight frigging hair."

Haley laughed in spite of herself.

"And, how do those leotards not ride up their butts to _here?"_ Frank chimed in.

"Tuff-Skin," Haley answered.

"They have ass-calluses?" Frank asked. "Most girls I know would get things like that removed."

"We do," Haley explained. "Tuff-Skin is sticky stuff you spray on your tush so the leotard won't move."

"Didn't they used to pour water down their backs for that?" Poot wondered aloud.

"Yeah—before they started making sweat-absorbent leos," Haley laughed. "Those dry too fast." Then she started crying even harder than before.

"People are just stupid, Haley," Frank said. "And fake, too. You're not either."

Poot leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "Those girls terrify me! They're like glitter-dipped, smiley robots."

Haley nodded, still crying. "Yeah, they poop glitter and their farts shimmer." She curled up, put her head on Poot's shoulder, and closed her eyes.

"Sparkly farts?" Frank was intrigued. "I take back what I said; I love glitter." Then he changed the subject. "Poot, if you huffed on Tuff-Skin, would it stick your nostrils together?"

Poot shook his head. "Not unless you shoved it up you-know-where."

"Why would your nostrils stick together from putting something up _there?_ " Frank wondered.

"I'm talking about people whose heads are already there," Poot explained.

"I hear you," Haley agreed. "My head's way up there, too."

They all faced forward in silence, knowing it wasn't far from the truth.

! #$%^&*

A cop car sat outside Poot's Plano residence.

Haley and Poot jumped out of Frank's truck, from which they then produced her bike.

"You gonna be okay, Hale?" Frank asked.

"Of course not," Haley laughed.

"That's my girl." Frank smiled as Haley and Poot entered the latter's house.

Officer Ferguson was sitting on the couch, waiting. "Hello, Haley. Hey, son."

Poot nodded. "What's up, Mom?"

Officer Ferguson beckoned Haley and gave her a hug. "It's going to be all right."

"Mom," Poot said. "Not lame or anything."

"Oh, lay off." Officer Ferguson squeezed Haley. "If you need a place to stay, Hale, we'll talk to the judge about you crashing here. Now sleep well."

Haley's expression was that of a drowning swimmer who'd just been given her own yacht.

! #$%^&*

The next day, Haley was led to Judge Westreich's chambers. She stood before the Judge's desk.

"Have a seat," Westreich said.

Haley, sad but serene, did so.

"I want you to read this." The Judge produced a piece of paper from a file with one hand, while adjusting her glasses with the other. "Read it out loud, if you please, starting with the second paragraph."

She handed the paper to Haley, who read: "Haley Graham is one of the most inspiring gymnasts I've ever worked with, besides being one of the most talented. While more than welcome to return, she's also capable of deciding what's best for herself. I'd encourage the court to include her perspective in its decision. Sincerely, Burt Vickerman."

Haley looked up at Judge Westreich. "I'm still just a kid."

"And a good one, apparently, despite your best attempts to prove otherwise." The Judge winked at her.

Haley was stunned and moved in equal measure. Somebody, finally, got her.

"Officer Ferguson called and let me know they'd love to have you," Westreich continued. "Mr. Vickerman wouldn't mind seeing you again, either."

"I'm not sure what I want," Haley replied, "Or what I _don't_ want."

"There are quite a few colleges that would be willing to help you find out, free of charge," Judge Westreich said, "In exchange for a flip or two."

Haley nodded, staring at the Judge.

"That's it," Westreich told her. "You're free."

"How?" Haley wondered aloud. "I'm still under eighteen—and what about the restitution you mentioned?"

"It's been taken care of," the Judge answered with a shrug. "Be good; it sounds like you might be built for it."

Haley walked out of the Judge's Chambers, relieved. As she stared at the fax Westreich had given her, the Judge suddenly reappeared.

"You know, lots of great people have had jerks for parents—including myself." She winked at Haley. "So we've got to stick together, _capisce?_ "

Haley just smiled gratefully.

! #$%^&*

The chimes rang. Brice Graham Junior opened his front door. Haley was standing behind it.

She took a deep breath. "I wanted you to know that you're allowed, perhaps obligated, to be mad at me for all the stuff I did—crashing through the window, the stunts I pulled, the times we fought, or whatever else. You can even hate me for that."

Little Brice was stunned.

Haley went on, "And if you do hate me for all that stuff, then I apologize for it. But you shouldn't hate me or be mad about stuff I _didn't_ do, or even know about, because that's not fair at all. I had no idea what Mom was doing to you."

Her father nodded gratefully.

"I just wanted to get that out of my system." With that, Haley walked away…no hug, no tears. She left her father standing there in the doorway. Little Brice gave a look which said, in his own shut-down way, that he appreciated all this.

He called after his daughter. "Haley…? I'm sorry you didn't come with a manual." With a sad smile, he continued. "Don't be a stranger, huh?" Then, watching her, he shut the door.

Haley opened the door of Frank's truck and climbed inside. He and Poot were looking sheepish.

She smelled something. "Ohmigod, that's inhuman." Both guys burst out laughing as she rolled down the window.

"What did he say?" Poot asked her.

"Not much," she answered.

"Your dad's a jerk," Poot said.

Haley shook her head in disagreement. "He just hurts."

"Then what's your mom's excuse?" Poot wondered.

"She hurts, too," Haley presumed.

Frank looked very sad. "What about me? I hurt."

With that, an SBDF sent Poot and Haley's heads out their respective windows, like dogs for air. Frank looked pleased with himself.

"Yo!" Haley yelled. "Not nasty, or anything!"

"Rude, dude!" Poot hollered.

Frank's truck took off, out of the suburban development. Haley's hair flew in the wind.

! #$%^&*

The VGA dorm had its own movie theater, in a sense. Said theater was usually kept locked, and wasn't much bigger than one of the bedrooms. It was, however, the dorm's only room in which Big Vic allowed a television set…a 36-inch plasma-screen, to be exact.

Currently, the LCD showed _ESPN Presents: The Friendship Cup._

An unseen announcer V.O.'d baby footage of Haley competing. "World Championships. Two years ago. Team USA just one rotation away from certain victory. Enter Haley Graham."

The program cut to footage of Haley screaming at Coach Chris DeFrank. Her screams turned to sobs. She grabbed her bag and ran out.

The announcer went on. "With an unscheduled exit leading to her automatic disqualification, few can forget the image of teammate Tricia Skilken—weeping as her dreams of gold melted away."

Onscreen, Haley was replaced by footage of a distraught Tricia Skilken…throwing her grips and crying at Worlds, being consoled by her stunned teammates.

The announcer concluded, "At 23, now a senior citizen by the standards of her sport, Tricia makes one more attempt to win that elusive World Championship hardware."

Mina, Wei-Yong, Lacey, and Joanne were all glued to the plasma-set. None of them noticed Haley behind them, eavesdropping and then stealing off.

! #$%^&*

Haley walked into VGA's Elite Gym. Big Vic was working with Devon, closely, on trampoline.

"…Tighter on the second twist, Dev; you're opening up too soon. That's it, snap and glue your arms—Nice."

Devon threw beautiful twists as Haley approached. Big Vic looked up.

After a long beat of unspoken understanding, Haley observed, "You got through an entire sentence without using the word _gold._ "

"It was tough," Big Vic admitted.

"And the restitution," Haley went on. "Was that—"

Big Vic was not known for his sentimentality. "Look, I'm sorry you had to learn about the deal the way you did. I figured, if you were gonna live up to your rep as a loose cannon, cash would cover the damages. It was low of me."

"Was that an apology I just heard?" Haley asked. "Not unlike you or anything."

"Your spot's more than covered, if you still want to train here." Big Vic smiled.

"Seriously?"

"That, and maybe work summer camps. I figure, for an assistant coach, we could do a lot worse than you. Also, I wouldn't hate it if you came to Nationals with us."

"What, so you can go to Worlds?"

"No, so _we_ can go to Worlds."

Haley laughed. "You're high on chalk."

Big Vic nodded. "That's not all I'm high on."

The other Elites, who had entered the gym for their workouts, rushed up and hugged Haley.

"If I stay," Haley spoke up at last, "will you do one thing for me?"

"Oh, goody; I can't wait to hear this," Big Vic said. "Does it involve you and…self-imposed silence?"

"Actually," Haley replied, "it involves _you,_ and…getting back up on the tramp."

"That's not gonna happen." Big Vic shook his head.

Haley turned to the others. "Don't you guys wanna see Big Vic do a layout?" She shot him a daring look. "Or, let me guess: Those who can't do, coach; while those who can't coach—"

Big Vic, along with everybody else, looked at Haley like she was crazy.

"He's, like, not way too old or anything!" Mina objected.

"Not that he'll break a hip or two!" Wei-Yong chimed in.

"I'll stay for Nationals, if you get up there and give us a layout worth imitating," Haley challenged Big Vic. "It's your call."

He considered this while Haley waved the girls over. They all chanted, "Big Vic, Big Vic, Big Vic, Big Vic…!"

For the first time in decades, Burt Vickerman Senior climbed onto the trampoline and got his bearings. After a beat, he proceeded jumping—gaining confidence with every rise and fall, while the girls laughingly cheered him on.

"Lay it out! Lay it out! Lay it out! Lay it out…!" They chanted.

Haley charged over to a nearby boombox and threw on a fresh CD. It was the soundtrack from **Chariots of Fire.** Big Vic joyfully moved through the air, higher and higher. He was liberated, remembering why he loved this sport. Then he did, as Haley said, a layout worth imitating.

The girls were giddy with their coach's uncharacteristic act.

"How about a full?" He asked them.

The young ladies' glee quickly turned to concern—even Haley's.

Big Vic set himself up for a full-twisting layout. Then he flew beautifully, gracefully, into the air.

Seconds later, there was a disturbing _crunch._ The girls covered their mouths in horror tempered with secret delight.

Big Vic popped his head up from an adjacent foam pit. "Call 911," he said.

Mina ran toward the nearest phone, while her fellow Elites helped their coach up.

! #$%^&*

Outside the VGA Elite gym, ambulance lights dotted the horizon while the girls regrouped.

"Haley, I'm sorry I yelled at you," Mina said. "We didn't know your life sucked so hard!"

"No worries," Haley replied. "I want you to meet the anti-suck." She indicated Poot and Frank, as both strolled in.

"Ladies," Poot said, then introduced Frank and himself. "We'll be your hosts for the evening."

The girls all perked up, getting excited—and, at the same time, self-conscious—by the intrusion of Poot and Frank…who relished the looks of slack-jawed amazement they were getting from these young ladies.

"We're going out!" Frank announced. Then he and Poot raced out, leaving Devon and Lacey standing there.

"Come on," Frank urged the two girls, who stared at him wide-eyed. They both shook their heads no way.

"Can't you speak?" Frank asked both girls, who shook their heads again. "Can you do anything besides gymnastics?"

Lacey and Devon shared a long look with each other. Then both turned back to Frank, and shook their heads more emphatically.

! #$%^&*

Later, at the local mall, Haley and all three of her fellow gymnasts—Joanne, Wei-Yong, and Mina—hit the food court. There they pigged out on ice cream and other stuff from Big Vic's "Junk List." For the girls, it was heaven.

In the mall's arcade, Poot and Frank locked horns playing **Dance Revolution.** Joanne mooned nearby, delicately eating steak fries covered with drippings from her triple cheeseburger. Poot playfully grabbed one of Joanne's fries and downed it, much to her amusement.

Then Haley traded places with Poot, jumping on the game. "Loser gets a makeover," Frank told her.

"Deal," Haley replied, as they both wailed on the game.

An hour later, Frank was sitting on a chair beside the department store's makeup counter. He had a ton of hair clips in his mane, and was covered in facial glitter.

"Two of everything, please," he told the makeup lady, and then rose to his feet. "I'm just kidding… _Four_ of everything."

Nearby, Joanne grabbed a prom dress and rushed to the fitting room…as did Haley, Wei-Yong, and Mina. They did cartwheels and tumbled while modeling their big, poofy dresses.

Minutes later, the girls bought their prom dresses while apologizing to the apathetic sales associate. "Why?" he replied in a monotone. "That was hilarious."

"Why are _you_ buying a dress?" Poot asked Joanne.

She smiled. "You're taking me to your prom, aren't you?"

"Then you should get a tux," Poot joked. "I read somewhere that the King look was in; remember **Art Of Fighting**?"

! #$%^ &*

That night, on the highway, Frank's arm thrust Joanne's new prom dress out the window of his truck. Joanne screamed as Frank quickly pulled the dress back inside. It was like being a kid again, only better.

Later that night, in the VGA dorm, Haley slept on the couch. Poot and Frank shared the floor, both snoring.

! #$%^&*

The next day, in VGA's gym, the Elites did their training rituals. Big Vic was focused on Wei-Yong and Mina, even as he fidgeted with his sling. Poot and Frank hid in a foam pit; every time Big Vic turned around, they both disappeared.

"I shouldn't have to remind you that only the top three at Nationals earn automatic spots for Worlds," Big Vic proclaimed. "Read. My. Mind…Ladies."

The girls struggled to look serious. Joanne was in la-la land.

"Where's Joanne?" Big Vic demanded. "Get over here."

She lazily shuffled over, giggling at Poot. Still hidden in the foam pit, he was making comedic faces behind Big Vic.

"Don't get cocky on me, Joanne," Big Vic said. "You're still far from a spot in the top twenty, let alone the top three."

"I know," Joanne replied. "I'll pull it off, so rest assured."

Another Elite flipped into the foam pit, landing on Poot and Frank. "Ow!" Poot complained.

"That was rad," Frank chimed in.

! #$%^&*

Later, Poot and Frank waved goodbye to the girls—from the VGA viewing deck.

Outside, in the VGA parking lot, Joanne rushed Haley…who was escorting Poot and Frank to their truck.

"Poot!" Joanne called. "We have a lot to review!"

"We do?" he asked.

Haley rolled her eyes. "Bye, guys. I'm out." With that, she bailed—leaving behind Poot and an impatient Frank.

"When is your prom?" Joanne asked. "You better get me a corsage."

Frank turned to Poot. "Are you kidding me? She's a witch."

Joanne was stunned. "What?"

"You heard me, bossy booty," Frank said. "I don't like how you act."

"Dude!" Poot said, and then turned to Joanne. "What Frank means to say is, _it would be my honor._ "

"You think I'm a witch?" Joanne was blinking rapidly.

"Yeah…Yes, I do," Poot said. "But I don't have the problem with it that Frank does. He's gay."

Joanne headed back in. "Call me?"

"I'll do you one better," Poot answered. "I'll _stalk_ you." He turned to his friend, and then pretended not to recognize him. "By the way—Frank, isn't it?—what's a corsage?"

"It's the universal sign for whipped," Frank explained.

! #$%^&*

Moments later, on the viewing deck, Joanne waltzed in happily. Haley and Big Vic were already there; she was grabbing some water, while he signed for a delivery.

"I'm going to the prom," Joanne smiled. Her mother's face was a mask of sadistic glee.

"Honey," Phyllis Charis informed her daughter, "we moved from Wichita so you could go to the Olympics, not to some prom."

Haley looked repulsed.

"Mrs. Charis—" Big Vic began.

"Not yet." She waved a finger in his face, and then turned back to Joanne. "You are a 24-your gymnast. Not part-time, _full-_ time. That's our agreement; if you know what's good for you, you'll honor it."

"I made no such agreement," Joanne spoke up. "You made it for me. Just because you got dropped from your own gymnastic team doesn't mean—"

" _ **Point being,**_ " Phyllis cut her off fiercely. "You are _not_ going to any prom. _End of discussion._ "

Joanne was visibly upset.

Big Vic was seething. "Joanne's a lovely girl and a brilliant gymnast, but we should get real about her chances of making the Olympic team."

"The only reason we're here is because we agreed she'd go to the Olympics."

Haley looked eager to see Big Vic's reaction. He gazed back at Haley, while Joanne gazed at him. Other parents, in the background, waited to hear what Big Vic would say. Phyllis looked annoyed.

Big Vic took a deep breath. It was time to come clean. "I lied," he informed Phyllis, and then surveyed the room. From the looks on the other parents' faces, Vic could tell he was going to lose some business.

"Look," he went on, "Everyone wants to hear that their kids are special. And they are…Maybe special enough to make the Olympics."

"We don't pay for _maybe,_ " Phyllis snarled. "If Joanne's nothing but a maybe, then—"

"You're right," Big Vic cut in. "She's probably a no-go. So if you want Joanne on an Olympic team, move to Finland."

Phyllis Charis erupted like Krakatoa. It was a ten-point-zero explosion. "Oh, we'll take her somewhere else all right."

"Have a ball," Big Vic sneered.

"Nationals are a minute away, literally!" Joanne protested. "Where would we go?"

"I'll train you myself," Phyllis shot back.

"I thought you wanted her to win," Haley snorted. "That's like hiring a guidance counselor who dropped out of middle school."

Joanne looked horrified. Phyllis, forcing herself to remain calm, collected her bag. Then she gave her daughter a stern _we're leaving_ look.

"Joanne," Big Vic said, "You're more than welcome to stay."

Joanne walked over to stand between Haley and Big Vic. Phyllis left, furious.

! #$%^&*

In the Elite gym, Mina and Wei-Yong were goofing around on the vault runway…by tumbling passes side-by-side on the floorex.

Joanne joined them, looking ticked. "Why are you doing that?"

"Because it's fun," Mina replied. "Let's do round-off, whip-back, handspring into a double-pi."

Joanne watched the duo tumble in sync. "Your toes weren't pointed," she informed Mina.

"Don't hate on my fuel-injection," Mina responded.

"You don't go to the Olympics for Sports Acro," Joanne pointed out.

"Nobody goes to the Olympics for rude, either," Mina answered. "That's not stopping you."

"Apparently, I'm not going to the Olympics at all," Joanne said.

Haley joined them. "If you're bummed at Big Vic, or at me, that's fine. But don't take it out on Mina."

"This isn't about what Big Vic said! He's right." Joanne was still reeling. "Your friend Frank called me a witch."

"Joanne," Haley said, "If you don't want people to think you're a witch, then don't be one. It's pretty straightforward."

Joanne freaked out. "I just wanna go to the prom! They don't give out tiaras at Nationals!"

Haley put a hand on her friend's shoulder. "Joanne. If you acted normal around Poot, he'd take you to the prom. Actually, he'll probably take you regardless of how you act."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joanne wondered aloud.

"Life's not a routine," Haley explained. "You don't have to do it perfectly for some audience."

Joanne rolled her eyes at Haley. "It is for me," she said, aghast and serious in equal measure.

Dorrie entered with a big box. "New leos and sweats are here," she cut in. "Haley, what floor music are you using? Something pretty, I hope."

"I thought I'd perform to silence," Haley answered. "It'd be way pretty."

"Music, Haley," Dorrie replied. "Need to know."

"I know," Haley said. "Don't worry about it." She looked at Big Vic, who wasn't listening. He was watching Mina and Wei-Yong, who were rocking their tricks.

"I haven't had four girls qualify for Nationals in a long time," he told himself aloud.

"How long a time are we talking?" Haley asked. "Like, since the Vietnam War ended?" She noticed his proud expression. "Are you gonna cry on us?"

Big Vic shook his head. "It's just a nice thing, Hay, that's all."

"Just let it out, if you need to. I won't tell," Haley went on. "Who'd believe me anyhow?"

"I need her music!" Dorrie cut in.

"We're good, Dorrie." Big Vic was greatly pleased. "Rest assured; we're _better_ than good."

Haley smiled at Big Vic, who returned the smile while nodding contentedly.

! #$%^&*

It was Day One of the Nationals.

Amid the podiums assembled in the Anaheim Convention Center, equipment was loaded into place. Signage was lowered from the scaffolding: U.S. NATIONAL GYMNASTICS CHAMPIONSHIPS.

The various competitors underwent their podium workouts, taking the opportunity to warm up without an audience.

Judges, spectators, and media filed in. They took their places, while coaches stretched their athletes.

At the arena floor entrance, twenty-eight gymnasts in club sweat-suits waited to march into competition. Haley was among them.

As the gymnasts filed into the brightly-lit arena, Haley's mind wandered. She asked herself what sort of world it would be if the competitors wore their feelings and thoughts on their jackets, rather than their clubs' names. Then, looking again at the jackets of those marching before her, she indeed saw thoughts and feelings printed there: "HUNGRY…I SUCK EGGS ON BARS…I HATE MY COACH…I MISS MY FAMILY…"

Such was what Haley really would have loved to see. Who cared what club you trained at, as opposed to what you were all about? The latter actually meant something. Passing a large mirror, she looked at the back of own jacket. For one fleeting moment it read "CONFLICTED". Haley wasn't surprised, having figured her jacket would have a lot to say. Sure enough, more words appeared: "REBELLIOUS…NERVOUS…HOMESICK…SKEPTICAL…IRRITATED…EXCITED…" Then she blinked, and the VGA logo was there again.

Haley turned around, smiling to herself about being there. Then her smile twisted into an _oh-please-not-this_ look.

Tricia Skilken, a 22-year-old gymnastic legend, walked towards Haley and then sliced past her like a razor. As Tricia blew past her, Haley stared at the back of Tricia's jacket. She visualized a sentence there: "HALEY GRAHAM SCREWED ME OVER WORLDS, AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS CRAPPY JACKET". Then Haley blinked again, and Tricia's jacket returned to normal.

Big Vic clocked the exchange. He checked Haley's brow for a fever, then gave her a reassuring nod.

Across the arena, at the press desks, Bart Connor made the call for ESPN. "Tonight: the All-Around. Tomorrow night: Event Finals. The favorite has got to be Tricia Skilken, hoping to make her fifth World Team at these Championships."

In the vault waiting area, Tricia was intentionally psyching Haley out.

As Tricia crossed her arms, Haley took a deep breath. "Look, Tricia," she said, "I didn't set out to wreck your Worlds—I'm doing my best here…My family was—well, disintegrating…I want you to know I feel really bad about the way it affected you. I sent you a note, explaining it all—I know this sounds lame—I don't know whether you got it, or…"

Tricia stared at her with hatred and walked away.

Flustered, Haley plopped onto the floor. She nervously taped her ankles, while looking at something between her feet.

It was her Gameboy. As she pressed its buttons with her big toes, its screen morphed into an image of herself saluting for her bar routine.

! #$%^&*

When Haley got nervous, as a ritual, she looked at the judges…and pictured them, in their ugly blazers, just trying to do what she and her fellow gymnasts did.

A middle-aged female judge saluted on the floor exercise and began a routine. She was really going for it…and then her pants ripped. She stopped, horrified—and tiptoed off, covering her rear end.

On bars, a second judge slapped on some chalk…covering her blue blazer in white dust. An older judge helped her prep the uneven parallels, spraying the bars with water.

The second judge saluted, then did a running springboard-mount onto the uneven bars. She caught her shoe-clad feet on the bottom bar…and executed a colossal face-plant into the mat.

Several leotard-clad gymnasts calculated and wrote down both judges' scores: "AS IF…HA, NO WAY…YEAH, RIGHT…U-MUST B-KIDDING."

A male judge was crying—while hanging under the balance beam, which he was clutching for dear life. Then he fell with a thud and a groan.

On vault, a really old judge charged down the runway, did a nice round-off entry…then flew over the vault and into the bleachers. Like, _ouch,_ okay?

Haley had once pictured those same judges naked, but that was just too gross.

! #$%^&*

During the mid-competition Vault rotation, Big Vic irately protested Mina's score before the panel of judges. "Where's this deduction coming from?" he demanded.

The head Vault judge explained, "Her bra strap popped out. It's an automatic deduction if an undergarment is showing."

"If you were twisting through the air at flank speed, wouldn't your bra pop out too?" Big Vic threw up his hands. "That rule is ancient!"

"So is her bra," the judge deadpanned. "Let me guess—Sears."

Haley overheard this exchange while prepping for Vault.

Big Vic turned back to Mina. "Your bra was sticking out." Spinning on his heel, he called out to everybody—and, at the same time, to nobody—"She lost one tenth of a point because her bra was showing!"

Mina looked down with equal disbelief. "I don't even have boobs!"

"I've never even heard of that one!" Haley shook her head, enraged.

Every competitor within earshot frantically checked her bra straps, while Big Vic adjusted Haley's beat-board. She went up to the vault runway, furious. Getting the green light, she saluted—before unzipping her leotard and pulling it off. Stripped down to just her bra and trunks, Haley beamed while posing like a model on the runway.

The crowd was on its feet. Shocked gasps were suddenly drowned out by wolf-whistles, cat-calls, and raucous applause. Big Vic, also enjoying Haley's spunk, nodded approvingly.

The judges marked all of this down while staring at Haley, who proudly indicated her color-coordinated undergarments. "This is part of my routine," she explained, as stenography for said deduction got marked on each of her four scorecards. "Oh, rest assured…I No-No'd my crotch yesterday, so at least we won't see any VPH…You know, _Visible_ —"

The Head Judge's hand shot up, unceremoniously cutting her off. "We know what it stands for, thank you very much."

The other judges winced, making no effort to conceal their _sweet merciful God_ expressions…while Big Vic stifled a laugh by jamming his fist into his mouth.

Haley did her vault perfectly, stuck the landing. She raised both arms in triumph—and then smilingly did a heavy metal salute, much to the delight of the younger audience members.

Big Vic met Haley as she exited. "Nice vault. Next time, why not pull a Gene Simmons to boot?" He demonstrated by sticking out his tongue.

"Sounds like a plan," Haley replied, "especially if you consider coaching."

The next competitor headed up to vault. With a smile of solidarity, shoe removed her leotard and held it up for the audience. "We're saving these for the pool party afterwards," she explained, winking at Haley. "Who's gonna be there?"

The crowd went bonkers. The judges rolled their eyes in exasperation.

! #$%^&*

In the waiting area for the Uneven Parallel Bars, grip bags littered the podium. The innards of each competitor's grip ritual was broken down to its various, peculiar parts.

The routines began. It was a symphony of chalk and air.

Competitors' reactions to their scores ran the gamut from happy to crying, from hurt to ecstatic…to shocked, in Wei-Yong's case.

Haley threw her grips at the sight of Wei-Yong's score: 9.375. Boos echoed throughout the arena.

Big Vic, livid, stomped over to the judges' table. "What do you think you're doing?" he raged at the head Unevens judge. "Her routine had a start value of at least ten! So where'd you find those deductions, on the floor?"

"We've decided the release is a D-value, not an E," the head judge explained. "Her start value was 9.8, not a 10."

"In _your_ Code of Points," Big Vic sneered, "it's already an E-value."

"It is indeed," the head judge replied, "but only in the _Men's_ Code of Points."

Big Vic continued his protest. "From a _woman,_ the strength required for that move should _increase_ its difficulty. Not _decrease_ it."

"That's just it," the head judge answered. "Why do you think they call this _women's_ gymnastics?"

"Where I come from," Big Vic snorted, "they call it a _power trip._ "

The head judge shrugged. "This is what happens when you assume too much. As the old saying goes, _we're not officials because we're correct. We're correct because we're officials._ Now, if that doesn't make sense to you, just say so—and I'll have Security escort you from the arena."

Dorrie pulled Big Vic away.

Commentator Tim Daggett was having a field day. "Due to a controversial devaluing, Wei-Yong SooHoo—one of America's brightest newcomers—may not see international competition for another year."

Haley struggled to console Wei-Yong. "…If you don't go to Worlds this year, there's always next year."

"At least I'm locked into event finals," Wei-Yong shrugged. "Getting a medal on bars tomorrow might make up for this."

Haley nodded.

"Mina qualified on vault and floor," Wei-Yong went on. "Joanne did the same on beam and vault."

"Wow, that's great," Haley said.

"So, did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"That you qualified for event finals yourself," Wei-Yong explained, "on _everything._ "

! #$%^&*

As the girls marched out of the arena, Tim Daggett interviewed Big Vic. Behind Daggett, a line of media reps waited for quotes and interviews.

! #$%^&*

The All-Around had been decided.

That night oversaw the National Championship Elite Banquet. It featured officials, coaches, and parents getting drunk. A few girls had yet to compete, but that would wait for tomorrow.

Haley was fuming, but mostly over it. Big Vic was getting props from fellow coaches, while staring down judges and officials.

"May I borrow your axe?" he asked. "Today's events have dulled mine to a nub."

Haley was distracted by the sight of Dorrie and Ivan, dancing drunkenly nearby.

"It's like today never happened," Haley complained. "Like crap and vomit got married. I can't take it!"

"Then you should rumble," Big Vic advised, which gave Haley an idea. She spun on her heel and bolted off toward the hotel's glamorous outdoor swimming area—ignoring Big Vic's call of "…I was kidding!"

Joanne, Wei-Yong, Mina, and fifteen other gymnasts—all stripped down to their long-sleeved competition leotards—were frolicking in what resembled a combined tropical lagoon and subterranean grotto…with several young male fans who'd seen fit to join them.

Haley emerged from the locker room wearing her own comp leo. She strode past a large sign which read: CHILDREN UNDER AGE 5 POSITIVELY NOT PERMITTED WITHIN 30 FEET OF POOL / VIOLATION WILL RESULT IN IMMEDIATE EJECTION & SUBSEQUENT PROSECUTION.

Haley hopped into the big pool, swam over to Wei-Yong, and tapped her shoulder. "You feel like some nice juicy hot-tub gossip?" she whispered in Wei-Yong's ear.

Wei-Yong smiled, and then joined Haley in passing along the invitation.

The hotel's upper Jacuzzi seemed like a miniature volcano. It was connected to the big pool by a combination spill-off ramp and water-slide. Flanking the Jacuzzi on one side were two showers, resembling a waterfall and a hot spring. The large hot-tub was flanked on the other side by a bubbling mud-spa.

Nineteen beautiful young ladies huddled together in the swirling water, which was illuminated by deep red light from beneath its surface. Some of the gymnasts sat on the laps of boyfriends they'd made that evening.

Haley squatted on the Jacuzzi steps like a Fu Dog, overlooking the others. "Congrats on qualifying for Event Finals," she told everyone.

Mina stood up in the soothing, hip-deep water and threw a victory-salute. Her bra straps were clearly outlined through her soaked competition leo, along with the waistband of Mina's trunks. Then she sat down again and cuddled up against the nearest guy, who welcomed her with a rather-explicit hug…much to Mina's delight.

"In every other sport," Haley went on, "things are straightforward. In football, whoever scores the most touchdowns is the winner. And if you're not sure if it was out of bounds, you get instant replay. Then there's gymnastics. You're supposed to do a clean, perfect routine. Don't even think about asking the judges to check their work or explain their scoring system. Unlike us, they don't have to be perfect. They just say, _don't worry. We know best. Trust us. End of story._ "

Two other gymnasts spoke up from their boyfriends' laps. "I don't trust _anybody_ who's gotta stand up to make sure you're not out-of-bounds on vault-landings," Gloria said.

Rita agreed, nodding. "If _they_ didn't have a good-enough view of our landings, either…"

"And if they can't see everything," Mina chimed in, "how can they call _themselves_ right?"

Haley continued. "If a kid cheats in school, they get in trouble. If a woman cheats on her husband, we all know the consequences…But how about when an adult cheats a kid? Why does nothing happen, then?"

Wei-Yong took a guess. "…Because it's their say-so?"

"And also…?" Haley prodded.

The truth dawned. "…Because they're the adults and we're the kids!" Gloria called out. "So what do _we_ know!?"

"That sucks," Joanne agreed. "It may be the way things are, but it still sucks."

"Unless we say so," Haley cut in.

The girls looked very unsure.

"Imagine," Haley went on, "if the best athletes from the most fascist sport in the world actually stepped out of line."

"…But how?" Rita asked. "What are you talking about here?"

Haley gave this a few seconds of thought, biting her lip. " _We_ pick the winner on each event."

"Why?" Joanne asked. "And how?"

"A: to remind the adults that they're as human as we are," Haley answered. "B: follow my lead at March-In tomorrow. You'll see for yourself."

The girls climbed out of the Jacuzzi and showered in the "hot spring", before heading back to their rooms…save those who had gone to sleep in their boyfriends' arms. Where such was the case, said guy picked them up and carried them over to the "waterfall".

"What're you gonna do at March-In?" Wei-Yong asked Haley while they both showered.

"…I don't know yet," Haley replied bluntly. "But it'll come to me."

They helped themselves to a couple of towels, which hung on a bar underneath another large sign; this one displayed the gaping maw of a great white shark. Printed above and below the shark's picture was the following message: BEWARE OF LAWYERS / IF YOUR TINY (NON-TOILET-TRAINED) KID ENTERS THIS AREA, THEY GET TO EAT YOU.

! #$%^&*

It was Day Two of the Nationals. As the stage was being set for Event Finals, Mr. Cheeks could be heard singing "Lights, Camera, Action".

Judges took their places. Fans took their seats. Media positioned their cameras. Tim Daggett and fellow commentator Elfi Schlegel got miked up and ran through their opening.

Off-stage, an official called out each finalist's name…while the finalists got into a single-file line for March-In. Haley fidgeted nervously with the zipper of her sweat-suit.

The arena announcer spoke up. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome this year's National Championship Event Finalists."

Each girl walked out and saluted the audience after her intro. Then she waited in line while waving to the crowd. Uncertain looks flashed over the girls' faces, while coaches surveyed the proceedings and parents applauded.

Mina bit her lip. Wei-Yong blinked nervously.

"This will permanently mark us," Joanne whispered to Haley, "don't you think?"

"I hope so," Haley whispered back. "But it doesn't matter what _I_ think; just do what _you_ think is right."

As the girls turned and headed toward the Floorex mat, Haley suddenly stopped. She took off her warm-up jacket, and threw it onto the floor.

The audience responded with quizzical looks, as did every judge on the panel. Both commentators shrugged at each other. This was…Not weird or anything.

One by one, each finalist threw down her jacket. Joanne paused upon seeing her mother in the stands, and then threw her jacket in as well.

! #$%^&*

Moments later, in the Vault Rotation waiting area, Amy chalked up while her coach spoke to her.

"Amy is last year's National Champion," Daggett said, "and current world bronze medalist on this event."

Amy walked onto the podium, saluted the judges, and ran. The judges assessed the run, pencils poised.

Amy's hands lightly touched the vault. Her coach and parents looked confused, then ballistic.

Trying not to smile too hard, Amy descended the stairs. The other event finalists cheered wildly. The scoreboard lit up with five zeroes.

"Don't mind if I do!" Amy called out, throwing herself into the stands to hug five adorable young boys whom she had noticed sitting there.

Haley prepped her vault, really laying it on. A round-off handspring back-tuck, it landed _on_ the beat-board. She shrugged with a _what-have-I-done_ look, then touched the vault and exited.

The Meet Director rushed Big Vic. "Are you behind this?" he demanded.

Big Vic just grinned at him. "I'm smart, pal, but I'm not this smart."

Joanne looked at her clearly-ticked mom. Then she smiled while doing a modeling-catwalk strut up and down the runway. Every young male in the audience went berserk.

One particularly cute guy in the front row called out for Joanne to marry him. She'd never seen this boy before in her life, but that didn't stop her. She charged over, jumped into his lap and gave him a big kiss. As his head rolled backward in a faint, she gently slid out of his embrace and returned to the runway.

"…Joanne's not chalking up either," Daggett went on. "She's just walking along the runway, and…There's something very strange going on here today, Elfi."

"You noticed," Schlegel deadpanned.

The press looked confused as they struggled to figure out what the heck was going on. Then Joanne's score came up.

"Another five zeroes," Schlegel commented. "This has never happened before."

The crowd was buzzing. Coaches and parents were freaking. Joanne was in the stands, giving out a big hug to each of five drop-dead-gorgeous frat boys from UC San Diego.

Mina spat in her hands while chalking up. All the event finalists were lined up, cheering her on.

Mina saluted with deep calm and pleasure. It was nothing one would expect to see on a competitor's face.

"Come on, Mina!" The other girls urged. "Stick it!"

The audience looked down from the edges of their seats, not sure what was happening. Officials scrambled and yelled.

"…She's vaulting a Yurchenko with a double twist," Daggett said. "It has a 10.0 start value."

"She could do a simple handspring and win," Schlegel replied. "Interesting rotation."

Haley and Company bit their lips, nervous for Mina. Big Vic wondered what the f*** was going on here, as the judges signaled.

Time and perspective seemed to shift—inside, outside, and around this all-but-impossible skill—as Mina's feet pounded along the floor at flank speed…and then slammed onto the spring-loaded beat-board.

It was pure poetry as Mina's body sprang off the board. Her hands hit the vault tongue, and she sent herself spinning through the air. Reaching the floor, her feet stuck to the mat like glue.

Mina's face registered the unbelievable surprise and relief which comes with sticking an insanely dangerous vault. While her fellow gymnasts went bananas, Mina struck her best _I got it_ pose for the judges—raising her arms and holding her stick. She saluted and waved to the crowd, then shrieked as she hopped off the podium…and into Big Vic's stunned arms. Wrapping her spectacular legs around his waist, Mina gave him a big smooch. Big Vic smiled uncomfortably.

"If she does not get a ten on this," Daggett said, "there is no justice."

The judges did not look at each other. They felt the pressure, and were not quite sure of what just happened.

The vaulting finalists nervously awaited Mina's score. Then it came: **9.7**. The crowd and announcers went nuts.

! #$%^ &*

Both Haley and Gloria scratched on the Uneven Parallel Bars, as did Rebecca Black.

Later, the Meet Director conferred nervously with Tricia and Rebecca, and with the girls' respective coaches. From the chalk bucket, Haley and Wei-Yong looked on with concern.

A smirking Big Vic walked up behind Wei-Yong. "Hey."

"Hey, Vic," Wei-Yong returned the greeting.

"Looks like you're gonna actually do a routine," Big Vic went on. "Imagine that! We're at National Championships, in the Event Finals, and someone is actually going to compete. It's crazy."

"For some time," Wei-Yong responded, "I felt like I didn't exist, so far as you were concerned."

"Squeaky wheels get the oil," Big Vic shrugged. "They need it most."

"Hey, I can squeak with the best of them," Wei-Yong answered.

"So," he said, "you need a spot, or you wanna do your thing?"

"I wouldn't say no to both," Wei-Yong replied.

Big Vic shrugged again. "It's your championship. I'm just a tourist, or so it appears."

As Wei-Yong chalked up, Big Vic noticed Mrs. Charis screaming at Joanne on the other side of the arena. He was intercepted by the angry Meet Director.

"You wanna explain what's going on?" the Meet Director asked. "Or do you plan on getting back control of your athletes?"

"With what, a remote?" Big Vic retorted. "If you're operating under the impression that either of us have any control over them, who knows? You might be the very one they're dedicating this song to."

"Well, _you_ don't have corporate sponsors down your throat," the Meet Director shot back, "or a network to explain all of this for."

The judges gave Wei-Hong the green light. She saluted as a kick-ass track made itself heard. Set to the track was a festival on this witch of an apparatus.

Before her dismount, Wei-Yong stopped and stood on the high bar. She pumped her fist twice, and then giant-swung into a double-twisting double-back dismount…which she stuck cold. On the Jumbotron, Wei-Yong showed tons of emotion.

Daggett was speechless. Schlegel spoke up for him: "We'll re-record something later." She, too, was stunned and impressed in equal measure.

Rushing toward the waiting area, Wei-Yong was met with hugs and goodwill from her competitors.

The Meet Director brushed past Big Vic to face Wei-Yong. "Congratulations," he told her. "Looks like you're the proud new owner of the National Bar Championship."

The scoreboard lit up: **9.4**. The audience booed like hell.

Big Vic, also outraged, goaded the Head Bar Judge. "Tell me something," he sneered at the Judge, "How can you judge originality, when you don't even know what it looks like? Or do you?"

The Head Bar Judge smiled tightly but didn't answer.

! #$%^&*

In the Waiting Area for the Balance Beam Rotation, the Meet Director blocked the stairwell to the podium. All six balance beam-finalists stood before him.

"So who's going to compete, and who isn't?" he asked them.

All six girls crossed their arms defiantly, refusing to speak.

The Meet Director sneered at them. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

Each girl shook her head emphatically.

"There _are_ alternatives who'd love to compete," the Meet Director added. Behind him, Tricia Skilken and two other gymnasts stared down the girls.

Rebecca Black looked especially uneasy, so Haley leaned in close to her. "There's nothing they can do," she whispered to Rebecca. "He's covering his tail."

The Meet Director looked like he might cry, but thought better of it as Rebecca bit her lip.

! #$%^&*

During warm-up on the Balance Beam podium, Haley got the green light. She saluted and touched the beam.

Moments later, Haley descended the podium. Back in the Waiting Area, Beth frantically pointed to Rebecca…who was dropping out, switching with Tricia Skilken.

"What's up?" Beth asked, as Tricia shot Haley an evil smile while warming up.

"Tricia's gonna compete," Haley explained.

On the Beam podium, the green light went on. Tricia saluted, smiling beautifully.

Time seemed to play tricks through Tricia's classic, solid beam routine. There were no mistakes, no bobbles, and no excitement.

Beth and Haley conferred on this change of plans. "I don't have to go," she told Haley. "Even if I scratch, we can still make our point."

"It's your call," Haley responded. "I'd love to see your routine."

Tricia dismounted to considerable applause. She saluted like she had it in the bag.

While the judges scribbled, Tricia blew by the girls. Then she stopped and turned, smirked at Beth and Haley.

Beth reacted to Tricia's smirk. "I am so going on."

Tricia's score was displayed: **9.312**.

From the Beam podium, finalists cheered as a pumped Beth ascended. She saluted at the green light, and then launched the most amazing hybrid of all time: a pop-and-lock, hip-hop beam routine.

For Beth herself, her own breathing and heartbeat created her own personal soundtrack. Using the circumference of the four-inch beam, going in directions that were unusual for this apparatus, she threw a dismount which was more _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_ than Carly Patterson.

The panel judges looked uneasy. They weren't sure how to evaluate this one, but the rules prevented them from conferring.

A technical judge raised her hand, signaling the Head Beam Judge, who came over. The two conferred in a very animated manner, while Beth waved to the screaming crowd.

Daggett and Schlegel were still flummoxed. "I guess we'll re-record this later as well," he told her, while Haley and the other finalists waited for Beth's score.

The scoreboard lit up: **8.8**. The crowd went nuts, booing and hissing.

! #$%^ &*

Around the Floor Exercise podium, Mina and Haley joined three other Floor-finalists…warming up with tumbling passes across the floor. They were having fun, high-fiving each other all the way. Only Haley looked bothered. There should have been more than five gymnasts here.

With a villainous flourish, Tricia Skilken entered the floorex and stepped onto one corner of the mat for her warm-up.

The other five girls were outraged. Beth and Mina bit their thumbs at Tricia, who did a warm-up pass…followed by Haley.

Big Vic moved some landing mats onto the floor for Haley's warm-up. "This is the most brilliant meet I've ever seen," he told Haley. "I hope you're the mastermind."

Haley shrugged. "It was a group effort, more than anything else."

"Either way, congratulations," Big Vic went on. "This little revolution of yours is officially slated for media coverage." He indicated Tricia. "But first, lock and load…because you've got a Showdown at the Floor-Ex Corral."

! #$%^&*

Three girls scratched on Floor. Several audience members ripped their **10** signs in half and were waving the zeroes. All three girls rushed the stands, where they were greeted with hugs from several young male spectators.

Back in the Floor Exercise waiting area, Haley sat with Mina on the podium stairs. Both noticed Tricia staring them down.

"Don't worry," Haley shook her head to Mina. "You can totally beat whatever score Tricia gets."

Mina stopped Haley as she was about to scratch. The other three finalists stood behind them, with Tricia circling nearby.

"Don't scratch," Mina said.

"What do you mean?" Haley asked.

Mina indicated Tricia. "If she's going, then we all want you to go." She and the others nodded at a clearly-touched Haley, who returned the nod.

Haley blew it out and shook it off, then approached the podium. Suddenly, Big Vic stormed up and cut her off. "What's wrong?" she asked him.

Shaking his head, Big Vic indicated Tricia. She had her arms folded, hating Haley big-time.

Big Vic stared Tricia down before turning back to Haley. "Nothing's wrong," he explained. "She just ticks me off. Also, I want you to…" Then he choked up, too proud of her to continue.

Haley felt how much he cared. She noticed him fighting tears.

Big Vic nodded, barely containing his emotions. "Remember when I said you could've been great?"

Haley nodded.

"Well, there's no _could've been_ about it. You _are_ great." Big Vic pulled it together. "Now go kick her buns-of-steel." He gave Haley a thumbs-up as she walked onto the podium, following a last glance at Tricia.

Behind Tricia was Haley's mother, standing and waving frantically with both arms. "Stick it, honey!" Alice called out.

In spite of herself, Haley shook her head and grinned. Then she stepped onto the podium and waited for her green light.

Everyone in the arena was on the edge of their seats. The judges waited with poised pencils.

Haley smiled as the unmistakable notes of Metallica's "Enter Sandman" began. In the stands, Chris DeFrank joined Alice…along with Three, Christine, and Graham.

"Oh, not this song again," Chris complained. "What is the deal with this music?"

"I thought you knew," Alice replied.

Chris shook his head.

"It's her dad's favorite song," Alice explained.

Haley set up for her first tumbling pass: Insane. The crowd went crazy.

In the waiting area, the other gymnasts stood on their chairs to watch. Big Vic looked on proudly.

Haley hit everything 110%. It was hardcore tumbling and innovation, without the girly stuff.

The music stopped. Haley's breathing and heartbeat were so loud that it was all she could hear.

The crowd went silent, not responding. Then it erupted into applause, with everybody on their feet. Haley waved to them; amazement, tempered with delight, was written all over her face.

Moments later, in the Floor Exercise waiting area, Haley rushed into the arms of her fellow athletes. The other Finalists congratulated Haley, while everybody waited for her results.

Big Vic joined them. "I refuse to look at the score," he said, before turning to look at Haley's score: **9.1**.

Boos filled the arena. Haley smiled while exchanging high-fives with Mina, Wei-Yong, and the other Event Finalists.

Tricia walked up to the podium. The judges gave the green light. She saluted, stepped onto the mat, got into position.

Mina sighed, disappointed. "Eat mat, Tricia," she murmured.

As the crowd waited for Tricia's music, she smiled and saluted again—then stepped off the mat.

Mina's disappointment turned to shock. Tricia was playing along!

Tricia unzipped her leotard in solidarity, stepped out of it, struck a pose in just her bra and trunks. Her score came up: **0.0**.

Tricia waved her leotard at the crowd. "I'm hosting a pool party tonight at my hotel," she said. "Who's there?"

! #$%^&*

Later, on the Winners' Podium, Mina and Wei-Yong waved while receiving their gold medals. So did Tricia.

As Beth received her silver medal, Tricia removed her gold. She put it on Beth, removed Beth's silver, put it on herself. Then Tricia walked off the podium with a thumbs-up. Beth was delighted.

Haley flashed her troublemaker-grin. She was enjoying every moment of this, although she still couldn't believe it was happening to her.

As she received her totally fake first-place medal, Haley realized that gymnastics wasn't there to judge her…or to diss her. Only she herself could do that. It wasn't about the judges, or the parents, or the coaches. It was all about the gymnasts, and for the gymnasts.

! #$%^&*

Later, in the press area, the athletes were giving comments when Haley's phone came to life. She answered and looked at it.

"It's for you," she told Joanne.

On the phone was a photo of Poot, holding a white corsage for Joanne—who grabbed the phone excitedly.

"They were out of pink ones," he explained sadly.

"Don't apologize!" Joanne blew him a kiss. "White totally works!" She smiled and gave Haley a thumbs-up, then turned back to the media.

Big Vic suddenly pulled Haley away to speak with her in private. "I got some really bad news," he said. "How much do you hate college gymnastics?" He held a stack of cards from all the top NCAA schools in the country—UCLA, Georgia, Stanford, Alabama, the whole bit.

"I'm past hating things I haven't tried." Haley grinned. "Where should I go?"

Big Vic handed her the cards. "You'll figure it out. You could auction yourself off, or…"

"Or I could just tell them to stick it."

"Like you know how to stick it," he chuckled.

"My feet were glued!"

"To a high-speed bus…!" Big Vic scoffed as he and Haley walked toward a throng of young fans, toting programs, waiting for their new hero's autograph.

"I'm going to Tricia's pool party this evening," she told them. "Join me?"

! #$%^&*

THE END


End file.
